


All for All

by hermitknut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Written Pre-Deathly Hallows, it doesn't take up too much of the narrative but it's there, vernon dursley is an abusive bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: In the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry will either gain everything – or lose everything. This is life – to gain all, one must first risk all. Alternate sequel to Half-Blood Prince, written largely before the release of Deathly Hallows.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very old piece of fic, but as I'm mostly using Ao3 now I want to have all my fic in one place. So I'll be putting this up in fits and starts over the next few weeks. That doesn't mean that I wouldn't be absolutely delighted to get any feedback or comments! The whole fic is written and formatted, it's just about me getting five minutes to upload everything. Enjoy.

In a small garden overshadowed by an ancient yew tree, a little girl of seven knelt on the dry grass. It was the middle of the afternoon, and boiling hot, but in front of her a small, black-and-white kitten crouched uncertainly. The girl slowly reached out a hand, and cautiously, the cat edged closer to sniff it. Sensing no danger, it allowed itself to be stroked gently. Cat and girl sat in mutual affection for a few minutes.

A sudden bang from inside the house jerked them out of their revere. All traces of comradeship disappeared as the kitten tensed, its hair standing on end. Loud voices and unpleasant laughter were heard, and then – a scream. The girl jumped up, her eyes wide. Unheeded, the cat fled into the shadows of the yew tree, and watched the girl run into the house’s dark interior, her blonde plaits swinging to and fro as she pattered up the steps barefoot. As she entered the house, her eyes blinking furiously to return her vision, the sounds of struggling reached her ears. The noise was coming from the kitchen. She tip-toed to the door, opened it an inch and peered through the gap.

Figures in black were standing in the kitchen.

“Crucio.” Desperate screams echoed through the room. The little girl put her hands over her ears, petrified, but she couldn’t run – her body had frozen. The screams stopped. A voice that would send chills down the spine of any man was heard.

“Wormtail…open the door.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Before she could move, the door creaked open slowly and her hiding place was revealed.

A man lay on the floor, dead. A woman with beautiful blonde hair much like her daughters’ was huddled in next to him, her dry sobs echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“What is your name?”

The voice spoke again and the girl looked up into the face it belonged to – white and snakelike, with red eyes that burned with malice, and _he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape –_ it seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil - _…and neither can live while the other survives… -_ ‘Use it if you need me, alright?’ – _‘You are very kind, Harry, but your blood is worth more than mine.’ –_ ‘Avada Kedavra!’ – _Not Harry, please not Harry!’ –_ ‘AVADA KEDAVRA!’ – _a pair of golden eyes behind round glasses_ –

Harry woke up.

He stared up at the ceiling of his room in number four, Privet Drive, and waited for his heart to slow down. After a moment he sat up, rubbing his eyes – they had already begun to adjust to the half-light – and looked at his alarm clock. Three o’clock in the morning. _Great. Just great._ He frowned in irritation, not really wanting to go back to sleep and face more nightmares.

Harry had been at Privet Drive for just under two weeks now. The Dursleys, particularly Uncle Vernon, had not been at all pleased about their nephew’s early arrival. Dudley was still away at school, Aunt Petunia avoided Harry as much as possible and Uncle Vernon was certainly never around, but the few words that had been exchanged had led Harry to suspect that things weren’t going so well for the Dursleys – Uncle Vernon in particular. _Understatement of the century,_ Harry thought grimly. He winced, remembering the night before, when he had been woken from a vivid nightmare by his Uncle grabbing hold of his left arm, hard. _Lucky he didn’t go for my neck,_ he told himself. _I might’ve found that a bit harder to hide._ When he had visited Ron and the rest of the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place last week, he had been careful to make sure that the hand-shaped bruise was covered by his shirt sleeve. He wasn’t sure what was stopping him from telling someone, but he felt it would be stupid to go running to the Weasleys – or even Hermione – about it when there really wasn’t anything anyone could do to change the situation. He had to be at the Dursleys for another two weeks at least, and if anyone decided he should stay for longer he only had to wait for the end of July before he could do whatever he wanted. He imagined walking away from Privet Drive for the last time and smiled. _Finally._ Slowly he drifted off into daydream upon daydream.

When he next opened his eyes, the sun was peeking in through his window, and he glanced at the clock. Six o’clock. He just had time to go downstairs and grab breakfast before his Aunt and Uncle got up. Then he could guarantee not having to see them for a few hours.

Harry had been avoiding his aunt and uncle a lot recently. It worked quite well; he made sure to get up early enough to have breakfast before them, he made his lunch early and ate it outside whenever he felt like it, and at dinner he’d eat as quickly as possible and leave the table as soon as he could. Other than meals, he rarely saw them anyway, so there was no problem there. He’d visited Grimmauld Place three times in the last two weeks, getting there via the floo at Mrs Figg’s house, and not coming back until late evening. He was going there again today – and Hermione was going to be there too. She’d been spending the last two weeks with her parents, on holiday in Spain for some of the time, and she had written that she couldn’t wait to see them all again. Harry wasn’t sure if he felt the same. He might have been able to fool the Weasleys with a bit of luck, but Hermione would be more difficult. She would want to know everything about Harry’s time with the Dursleys, and she would probably be the one person aside from Mrs Weasley to ask why he was wearing long sleeves in the middle of June.

Harry sighed, got up, and walked downstairs. 

~

Ron paced nervously up and down in front of the fireplace. Hermione would be there any minute now –

The fire flashed green and a girl with long bushy hair stepped through into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

“Hello Ron,” Hermione said. She smiled and Ron swallowed, then cleared his throat.

“Hi ‘mione. Harry’s getting here around midday today, so you’ve got an hour or so before he gets here, unless he’s early, which he is sometimes…” Ron bit down on his lip to try to stop himself talking. Hermione seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“Do you want to play chess?” she asked. Ron nodded, relieved to have something else to think about. As they walked out into the hall, he heard his mother bustling around a floor above. He paused and called up to her,

“Hermione’s here, mum.”

“Alright, dear. Call me if you need anything.”

A few minutes later they were sat in the drawing room, either side of a chessboard. Hermione spoke.

“How’s Harry?” Ron’s bishop captured Hermione’s pawn.

“Okay. At least, he’s pretending to be,” Ron said. Hermione had been scrutinizing the board, but at this she looked up.

“What do you mean?”

Ron ran a hand through his hair.

“I think the muggles are giving him a hard time again.” Hermione bit her lip, worried, but there was also a certain amount of surprise in her expression: Ron wasn’t usually this perceptive.

“When did you say he was getting here?”

“Midday.”

“So we can check up on him then, right?”

“I s’pose.” Ron shrugged.

The game continued. Hermione surprised Ron with a carefully placed knight, but he was soon back on form.

“Checkmate.” Ron grinned. It was nice to be able to beat Hermione at something, even if it was just a game. She, however, looked rather put out, as she always did on the few occasions that he actually out did her. He began to pack away the pieces.

“What’s the time?” asked Hermione.

“Quarter to twelve.”

They walked through to the kitchen. They had just reached the fireplace when the flames flashed green, and the thin frame and messy black hair of their best friend began to materialize in the grate. 

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the underground kitchen of Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and was met by the sight of a tanned Hermione and a Ron whom Harry was sure had grown another six inches since he last saw him. As he brushed the soot out of his hair Hermione came forward and hugged him. Over her shoulder and through a cloud of bushy hair, Harry could see Ron grinning. He grinned back as Hermione released him, looking at him critically.

“Are you okay?”

Harry mentally re-checked what he looked like. His bruise was covered, he shouldn’t be any paler than normal, and Mrs Weasley hadn’t commented on him being thin for at least a week… so what had she spotted?

“Yeah, fine,” he said, “why do you ask?”

“Oh…just checking.” She gave him a bright smile and changed the subject. “I nearly beat Ron at chess earlier, you know!”

“No you didn’t!” Ron argued. Harry let their argument wash over him. So she hadn’t spotted anything…he was just getting paranoid… _not that there was anything to spot, anyway,_ he thought hurriedly. _I just don’t want them to worry about me… she was probably only checking, after Dumbledore…died…she wasn’t sure, so that’s probably it._

But as he walked ahead of them to go up to the room he and Ron shared he heard an angry mutter from just behind him.

_“Oh, well done!”_

_“Well it’s not my fault. What would you’ve said?”_

_“I would’ve been more subtle!”_

_“You? Subtle? Oh, please.”_

_“Hey! Just because –”_

 “Harry!” Mrs Weasley came up behind them, quickly ending the whispered fight.

“Hello Mrs Weasley.”

“How are you?” she asked. _What is it with people today?_ Harry thought as he answered.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good. Lunch will be late today, so I’ll expect some help – ” here she gave Ron a very pointed look “ – at about half-past one.”

The trio murmured their agreement, and trooped upstairs to Ron’s room.

Harry and Ron joked around for a while, Hermione inserting her own opinions every now and then as she flicked through one of her old textbooks absent-mindedly. At one particular comment, Ron gave out a loud laugh. Hermione ignored him.

“So, Harry – Ron, will you shut up!” She sounded annoyed. Ron struggled to regain control, and coughed nervously.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Hermione continued to ignore him.

“Anyway. We’ve been talking for over an hour and you still haven’t told us how your summer’s been, Harry.” She smiled in a friendly enough way, but Harry felt guilt crawling at his insides. He never kept secrets from them – at least, not ones that they wanted to know about. He still wasn’t sure why he couldn’t tell them now…

“Not too bad.” He mentally cursed. That was about all he had to say; he tried to think of something that would satisfy Hermione’s curiosity – but he was rescued by the bang of the front door and Mrs Blacks’ screams of hate.

_“Filthy muggle-lovers befouling my noble house! Blood traitors and mudbloods and half-breeds…”_

Mrs Weasley’s voice suddenly rose above the screams.

“Ginevra Weasley! How many times have I told you not to slam that door? And you were supposed to be back half an hour ago – DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, YOUNG LADY!”

Hermione looked curiously at Ron. Harry turned to gaze out of the window. No way was he having this conversation.

“Ginny.” Ron said, wincing. “She’s been like this for ages.” He did not seem to want to elaborate, so Hermione asked.

“What d’you mean?”

“Well…she’s been a bit…” He gestured helplessly, and glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

 “Oh…I dunno,” he finished lamely; “it’s probably just girl stuff. But she’s always out and mum’s getting really fed up.” He shrugged.

“I thought she was Luna,” Hermione said, “at least, that’s what she told me.”

“Yeah, she’s always in and out, it makes mum nervous.” Ron shrugged again. Harry couldn’t help wondering, somewhat nervously, if it had anything to do with _him_. After all, he had been the one to break up with her – _No way_. He snapped away from that train of thought. Just how big-headed was he? Ginny was fine without him – better, even. In fact, she was probably thinking about someone else already. She’d probably forgotten all about him. Harry tried to quash the disappointment that rose at this idea.

“Ron! Could you come downstairs and help with lunch, please?” Mrs Weasley called, sounding rather flustered, and the trio got up and went downstairs. On their way out, Harry glanced towards Ginny’s room at the end of the corridor. The door was shut firmly, and Harry knew even without looking that it would be locked from the inside. It had been for the last two weeks – at least when Ginny was here and not eating, which she seemed to be doing increasingly fast, not speaking to anyone except her mother, and then only if she absolutely had to.

Ten minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat down in front of a pile of potatoes. Harry reached across the table for the knife. As he did so, the sleeve covering his left arm was tugged up. He felt a hand grab his wrist – Hermione.

“Harry, what’s happened to your arm?” He snatched it back and pulled the sleeve down, re-covering the bruise.

“I – um, I trapped it in a door yesterday,” he lied, hoping she hadn’t seen its shape. Ron winced sympathetically, but Hermione looked more – concerned? Curious? Or…suspicious?

But she just bit her lip and nodded. _She doesn’t believe me._ Harry picked up a potato and started to peel it, perhaps slightly more viciously than he normally would. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watching his movements closely. He ignored her, and carried on peeling.

“Harry, mate…I’m sorry about us not being at Privet Drive with you,” Ron said awkwardly, looking at him nervously. Harry shrugged and smiled at him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

But mentally he rolled his eyes and sighed. It had all sounded so planned, so simple on their last day of term, but the reality was far from it. As soon as Hermione’s parents had found out she would be leaving Hogwarts early, they had insisted she come with them on holiday. Hermione had written a very apologetic letter to Harry from her house, saying how sorry she was and explaining that she had spent very little time with her parents recently and that she wanted to make it up to them before she left to help him look for the Horcruxes. He had written back immediately of course, telling her not to worry, that he understood. Really, he had been disappointed, crushed, especially when Ron told him that _he_ couldn’t stay either. He had asked his Dad as soon as they had gotten home, but Mr. Weasley had asked him to stay at Grimmauld – if only for Molly’s sake, because with Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins hardly ever there, he didn’t want her to be left alone in the house. Harry knew it was the right thing to do. Every time he had seen Mrs Weasley in his visits she had looked more and more weary – and he also knew that her shouting at Ginny’s behaviour had more of a fearful tone to it than actual anger.

But knowing it was the right thing to do didn’t make him feel any better about it. He would never admit this to his friends, because he knew it was selfish, but Harry was hurt that they couldn’t be there. Privet Drive seemed lonelier than ever now, given that he had been anticipating spending the time with his two best friends.

_And what about Ginny?_ asked a voice in the back of his head. But he brushed it aside, and focused on the job at hand, trying to forget about the prophecy, the Horcruxes, the Dursleys and Ginny at least for a little while. _I have too many things to worry about,_ he thought, more than a little bit grumpily.

~

Lunch was awkward. Harry had known that the Weasley brothers knew he and Ginny were no longer together, but he hadn’t really seen them around enough to know their feelings on the matter. Now he did.

He’d noticed Ron’s badly covered happiness with his and Ginny’s relationship. It seemed that the others had felt the same way. All the way through the meal (sausages, mountains of mashed potato, and peas), he could see them glancing at him, and then at Ginny, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table not speaking to anyone but stabbing at her sausages as though they had mortally offended her. He tried to ignore their blatant curiosity. If they wanted to know, they could ask Ginny. If Ginny wouldn’t tell them, then he wouldn’t either. He had no intention of telling them something Ginny didn’t want them to know.

After lunch, he Ron and Hermione helped Mrs Weasley clear up before retreating back to Ron’s room, despite all attempts on Mrs Weasley’s part to get them to go out in the garden on ‘such a sunny day’.

They spent most of the afternoon talking, arguing good-naturedly over Quidditch while Hermione rolled her eyes, and discussing possible Horcruxes and their locations. Hermione had quietly cast a silencing charm on the door when _that_ topic was breached; not that it was needed, with Mrs Weasley bustling around downstairs and Ginny’s door firmly locked – but better safe than sorry, as Hermione had said afterwards. Harry agreed with her.

“And we need to work out what we’re going to do about Hogwarts,” she said thoughtfully. Harry paused.

“What do you mean?” he asked guardedly. Surely she hadn’t forgotten what she had said at the end of term?

“Oh, didn’t you hear? It’s re-opening. Don’t think I’m reconsidering what I said,” she continued, “but, Harry, we’re going to have to have a really good alibi for not being there, or people are going to get suspicious.” Harry nodded, annoyed that he hadn’t already thought of that.

“I’ll work on it.”

“Well, we’ll start doing some research right away,” she said as she and Harry got ready to leave. “Ron, could you start looking in the library here?” Ron grimaced but nodded.

“What do you want me to start with?” he asked.

“Start by looking up as much information you can find on the four founders of Hogwarts,” Hermione said. “If you’re careful, you can make it look like part of your History of Magic work.”

Ron raised his eyebrows.

“Oh come on, ‘mione. You know I never end up doing homework till the end of the summer!”

“Say Hermione made you,” suggested Harry lightly. Hermione tutted and sighed as Ron and Harry swapped grins behind her back.

Despite the jokes, they made their way downstairs feeling the heavy weight of responsibility upon them. Harry and Hermione said goodbye to Mrs Weasley and took the floo, one after the other, back to their respective homes.

~ 

As soon as the trio had gone, a long, thin piece of what looked like string that had been lying in the shadows by Ron’s bedroom door moved. It was tugged quickly along the floor until it reached the supposedly locked door at the end of the corridor. Then the door was nudged open the smallest amount, through which not much was visible – save a curl of soft red hair and a pair of worried brown eyes.  
  
~ 

After dinner that day, Harry was surprised to hear a knock on the door. He was even more surprised to hear Bill’s voice greeting his Aunt, and came downstairs remarkably fast to find Bill Weasley in the living room, looking oddly serious.

“Hi Harry.”

“Hi Bill – what’s going on?” Harry asked. “Has something happened? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, Harry,” Bill replied. “I’m just here to check up on things, to make sure your aunt and uncle know what’s going on.” He turned to them, smiling blandly. “I’m sure you remember what was said last year, on the platform. I wasn’t there, but…I expect you know what we mean.”

Harry’s aunt and uncle stared from Harry to Bill and back again as though they had grown antlers. Uncle Vernon in particular looked furious.

“Harry has to stay until sometime next week. We haven’t quite got the date yet, but when we do we’ll contact Harry the normal way with the time and who’s meeting him.” He paused, picking up on the tension in the room, which was strong enough to knock out an elephant. “Anyway, I think that’s all you need to know. We’ll drop by to pick Harry up soon.” Harry and the Dursleys accompanied him to the door.

“Oh, and Harry? Can I have a quick word outside?” Harry nodded and stepped out onto the porch. Bill pulled the front door almost shut, then turned to face him, his worry evident on his face.

“Harry, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.” He stated.

“Ok…” Harry agreed warily.

“Are you alright?”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to lie to Bill – for one thing, he was likely to see right through it – but he didn’t want everyone worrying about him.

“Not bad,” he mumbled eventually, staring at the floor. There was a pause. Bill bit his lip, wondering what to say, before sighing in regret. He could see what Ginny had meant but he really had no idea how to breach the topic with Harry. Feeling disappointed with himself, he decided he would try and talk to Harry the next time he came to Grimmauld. He nodded.

“Okay.”

Harry could hear the disappointment in Bill’s voice, but kept himself from releasing all his feelings. _Sorry, Bill._

“See you at Grimmauld.”

“Yeah. See you,” Harry echoed miserably, before going back inside.

As soon as the door had closed behind Bill, Uncle Vernon strode over to Harry, who had started to move back upstairs.

“What have you been saying, boy?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to just believe you am I?” he said sarcastically. Harry turned around, angry.

“Well what’s the point in asking the question if you’re not going to believe the answer?”

His uncle’s hand lashed out and struck Harry across the face.

The scene froze for a split second. Aunt Petunia bit her bottom lip and glanced at the door nervously.

Harry’s face had turned with the impact. He slowly righted himself, looking at the ground. His Uncle was watching him intensely with his piggy eyes.

“Do you think you’re better than us?”

Harry reigned in all his emotions. He couldn’t let them get a reaction.

“No, Uncle Vernon.”

“Good. Now get to your room!”

Harry fought down all urges to run and walked steadily up the stairs. His hand on the banister was shaking slightly.  
  
~

When Bill returned to Grimmauld Place, Ginny was waiting for him.

~

That evening, Harry lay back on his bed at Privet Drive and stared at the ceiling. A close observer would see that his eyes seemed glazed, unseeing almost. Harry James Potter was gazing into the past.

This aforementioned observer, had they been there, would have watched his face carefully, for it changed – from as closed and as shut-off as the door of a Gringott’s vault, to as open and readable as a book. From the face of someone who took things in, judged them and considered them before throwing them out – to the face of someone who had reached out for something with which to steady themselves, only to discover it wasn’t there. From a ruthless, determined fighter – to an agonized, petrified teenager, frightened into a role he did not want to play.

And if the observer had watched closer still, after a while they would have been able to see him firmly pulling all of these emotions back inside himself, sealing them in and closing his face once more, before turning out the light and giving himself to sleep.

A close observer would have noticed all of these things. But there was no-one there.


	2. Chapter Two

_Seven O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry awoke with a jolt, a dream fading too quickly to remember. The morning sun was streaming into his room through the gaps in the curtains, etching strange patterns on the walls. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up and started to get dressed, and as he did, he noticed that the bruise on his arm was still far from healing. He carefully inspected it from all angles in the mirror. The vivid yellow-purple was still there, and worst of all – the shape of his Uncle’s hand was still clearly visible. Harry sat back down on his bed. He looked out of the window, and sought through his mind in vain to seek a way out of his present situation. Nothing came. He leant against the wall, and tried to think.

_Eight O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
Ginny sat alone on the windowsill of her bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was a nice position to be in, provided she kept a firm grip on the edge of the sill – and a sharp ear out for her mother. She was mostly protected from the elements by the guttering a foot or so above her head, and her bare feet swung gently over the dizzying two-storey drop. She liked to sit here, in the early morning sun. She could think. 

_Nine O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry could hear his aunt and cousin moving about downstairs but did not join them, although his stomach rumbled for food. He wondered if they would notice that he had missed breakfast, but immediately dismissed the notion. None of the Dursleys would notice, let alone care. He turned over so that his back was to the door and tried to think of something else. Oddly enough, the first person to appear in his mind was Ginny. Her straight, Gryffindor-red-and-gold hair; her sharp, inquisitive eyes; the way she tossed her head when she was annoyed; the irritated frown that controlled her face when her brothers got too overprotective; the way he felt when they - he snapped away from that train of thought. She wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, he shouldn’t be thinking like that.

_Ten O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
A slight breeze ruffled its fingers through Ginny’s hair, and she tossed her head to keep it out of her eyes. Her wandering thoughts landed on the inevitable – Harry. She smiled sadly to herself, thinking of the way he would ask if she was busy when she was overloaded with school work, and the way that, when she told him – rather huffily – that yes, she was, he would look at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief and she would be able to go and forget about the worries of the world for an hour or so.

If only she could do that now. 

_Eleven O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Memories and thoughts were spinning around Harry’s head. Dumbledore, begging for death. Sirius, giving Harry the package containing the mirror. The ghostly image of Sybil Trelawney speaking the words of the prophecy. Ginny’s expression when he told her that they couldn’t be together anymore. The younger Slughorn, telling Tom Riddle what a Horcrux was. So many images, whirling around and around in an endless cycle. So many images, that Harry’s head was beginning to ache. He pushed himself off the bed, stomach grumbling, thinking of getting something to eat.

_Twelve O’clock. Grimmauld Place_  
“And we need to work out what we’re going to do about Hogwarts,” Hermione had said, “…we’re going to have to have a really good alibi for not being there…” Not being there? Ginny had known that Harry had things to do, but she had never considered that he, or the others for that matter, would leave Hogwarts behind. She realized now how naïve she had been. If they were to make any kind of difference, they wouldn’t be able to do so from within the increasingly watched walls of the castle. She mentally cursed. It would make things so much harder. She had known that they would never _tell_ her what they were doing, but she had hoped that being in the same castle for nine or ten months would allow her enough eavesdropping opportunities to work it out for herself. _And then what?_ she asked herself. Confront them with the information, and hope they weren’t too angry? Confront them with the information, and beg to be allowed to help? She snorted. _Pathetic._ But what, then? Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Ginny! Lunch!” 

_One O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry sat alone in his room, picking at the remnants of the cheese sandwich he had had. Suddenly, a wave of restlessness swept over him. He needed to go somewhere, do something…

He grabbed a jacket, stepped into his trainers, walked downstairs and slammed the door behind him, leaving the sandwich untouched on the windowsill.

_Two O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
After lunch, and tidying the kitchen with her mother, Ginny went back to her windowsill perch, and tried to recall more of the conversation between Harry, Ron and Hermione that she had listened to yesterday. 

_Three O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry sweated under the mid-afternoon sun. _What am I doing?_

The sweat trickled across the back of his neck as he reached the top of the road. He stopped, and, gasping for breath, collapsed onto the bench. As the rapid beating of his heart began to slow, he watched the main-road traffic speed past him. 

_Four O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
Horcruxes. Where had she heard that word before? Ginny wasn’t sure. She watched a small bird fly across the square, and then back again, before she remembered. Of course!

Towards the end of her fifth year, she had been walking back up to her dormitory after finally giving up on a charms essay for the night. As she had crossed the near-empty common room, she had overheard part of Harry, Ron and Hermione’s quiet discussion. Ron had been speaking, joking.

“Hey, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we just walk up to him and ask. That’d be a fun meeting – hey, 'scuse us, d’you mind telling us where to find the rest of your Horcruxes, ‘cos we’d like to destroy them!” They had been speaking in whispers and murmurs, so Ron’s sarcastic comment had seemed particularly loud. It had drawn a reluctant smirk from Harry, and Hermione had seemed torn between amusement and annoyance.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron –” but there Harry had quickly interrupted.

“Hi, Ginny.”

Immediately, the other two looked around. They had changed the subject, but Ginny could still see Hermione’s face watching her suspiciously. Eventually she had relaxed, apparently deciding that Ginny hadn’t heard anything worth worrying about. Actually, Ginny had been listening in on their conversations for quite some time and had managed to glean that they were searching for something important of Voldemort’s – but it didn’t matter. She had always known that however much she got let in on, however closely she followed them, Ron, Harry and Hermione were a trio, not a quartet. They always would be, and Ginny would let them keep their secrets.

However, that didn’t stop her listening in. 

_Five O’clock. Privet Drive._  
A woman walking a small terrier looked at him with barely disguised revulsion as she passed. Harry stared blandly at the passing cars, not caring, daydreaming aimlessly. A small part of his mind wondered about the dream he knew he had had, but could no longer remember.

_Six O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
Ginny toyed with the extendible ear in her hand. _Mark II,_ she reminded herself. She smiled. Fred and George really were getting good. With the shop bringing in plenty of money, the twins had moved away from the practical joke area and were looking more into what they liked to call ‘defence and espionage’. Ginny remembered last week – she had been at the kitchen door, about to leave before an order meeting, when George had thrust the extendible ear into her hand and Fred had murmured in her ear, “Mark II – don’t show mum.” She had been delighted to discover that ‘Mark II’ had twice the length and range of the original, and of course the best thing – it could penetrate silencing and imperturbable charms. For obvious reasons, they were not being sold to the public, but Ginny looked forward to when all this would be over and she could hopefully see whatever else the twins had been working on. A darker part of her mind wondered if Harry, Ron and Hermione would still be around to appreciate it.

_Seven O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry watched the sun get lower and lower, and knew he should be heading back. He’d missed dinner already, but he knew that there was every chance he was being watched by the Order and probably wasn’t supposed to be out after dark. Harry found that he didn’t have the energy to care. He pulled himself off his seat and began to trudge slowly back to number four, being sure to take the longest route. 

_Eight O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
Ginny looked up at the stars. When she was five, Bill had taught her some of the star names. Sirius, the Dog Star. Regulus. Bellatrix. Andromeda. The Bear star. She looked for them now. For a moment, she thought she saw a lightening bolt amongst the constellations, but when she blinked it had disappeared. She sank deeper and deeper into reverie, where she and Harry were closer than ever, she was one of the trio turned quartet, and she helped them defeat Voldemort together… 

_Nine O’clock. Privet Drive._  
When Harry finally got back to number four, there was a note waiting for him on the kitchen table. He unfolded it. It was from his aunt, telling him in her neat biro writing that she was in Hertfordshire, visiting a friend, and that Dudley was staying over the Polkiss’ house for the night. Neither of them would be back till tomorrow - he and his uncle would be the only people in the house tonight. Harry couldn’t prevent a shiver of childish, long-forgotten fear. _Alone in the house with Uncle Vernon._ His aunt rarely allowed this to happen, and he could remember the last time vividly, as though it were yesterday.

His uncle had – _NO._ Harry shook his head to clear it. This was ridiculous. He was seventeen now (well, nearly) and easily as tall as his uncle. There was nothing to worry about. _And if there ever was,_ he thought, _I don’t remember it._ He swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts back to the deep well of ‘forgotten’ memories in the back of his mind.

Harry opened the fridge door and tried to decide on something to eat, but his appetite had gone. He sighed in annoyance and sat down at the kitchen table, allowing apathy to overwhelm him. 

_Ten O’clock. Grimmauld Place._  
Suddenly, something inside Ginny snapped. What was she doing? Ron, Hermione and Harry were going to be out there risking their lives and she was holed up in her room like…like some stupid princess in a bloody tower! Harry had _told_ her to stay out of danger, to her _face_ and she had _listened_ to him! Why? The answer came immediately. _Because I trust him._ Well he would just have to learn to trust her as much.

Ginny stared out into the starry night one last time, then came inside, closed the window, and began to plan.

  _Eleven O’clock. Privet Drive._  
Harry knew he was coming before he heard the door. The familiar sound of tyres on number four’s drive, the engine dying quickly and efficiently, the _stamp, stamp, stamp_ of his uncle’s feet – but something deep in his mind registered that there was something wrong with the sounds. The tyres had sounded faster, the engine more abruptly cut off, the _stamp stamp stamp_ just a little too irregular. It wasn’t until the door was slammed with ferocious force that Harry realised. His uncle was drunk. Harry froze in his seat, an old, far-too-familiar terror gripping him, previously suppressed memories flashing through his mind. Four years old, being made to get inside his cupboard for the first time. Seven years old, being punished for getting better grades than Dudley, and nursing the bruises for a week afterwards. Nine years old, giving the Headmistress’s letter to his uncle because his aunt and cousin were out, and they were alone in the house together. Later that night, in his cupboard, shaking and crying but holding his pillow over his face so his uncle wouldn’t hear and hurt him more…

And then the kitchen door swung open. The man himself stood in the doorway, blinking at the lights.

“ _You,_ ” he snarled. Harry tried to move but his fear held him in place.

“You stupid, ungrateful little freak!” his uncle spat, and swung at him. Harry dodged by instinct – just in time. His uncle’s ham of a fist barely missed him. As it was, he stumbled, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in and grabbing the countertop for support before pushing himself upright again. He glanced at the door to the hall. He knew from experience that if he made it to the stairs, his Uncle would not chase him, but this wasn’t very helpful. Uncle Vernon was between him and his only escape route. He may have been sixteen, and he may have been almost as tall as his uncle – but in his mind Harry was nine years old again, shaking with fear and repressed terror at the shear size and strength of the man coming towards him, not even considering fight or flight as possible. Because as a nine-year-old, Harry knew that Vernon Dursley was an unstoppable force. 

_Twelve O’clock. London._  
The inhabitants of Twelve, Grimmauld Place slept on, unaware of what was happening a hundred miles away in Surrey. Amongst them was a slender, red-haired girl, sitting at her desk yet fast asleep with her head resting on the tabletop. 

_One O’clock. Surrey._  
The storm that had earlier caused such stifling heat had broken, and it was raining in Little Whinging. A single figure walked slowly along the pavement.

His black hair was plastered to his head, his green eyes gazing into painful nothingness as he took step after agonizing step. The paleness of his thin face contrasted starkly with the vivid bruises along his temple, eye and cheekbone. Harry stopped in front of Mrs Figg’s bungalow – his destination – walked to the door and pushed the bell with a shaking, ice-cold finger. He waited. There was no answer. He pressed the button again; still no response. Then he saw the note attached to the door, encased in a transparent plastic folder to protect it from the weather. Harry read it, squinting through the rain.

_Milkman – no deliveries here until the 15 th. Thank You. _She wasn’t there.

Harry was angry. What had happened to him? He was almost seventeen, nearly of age, he could look after himself! And yet, here he was, hovering outside some dingy old bungalow that constantly smelt of cats and old cabbage, looking for _help._ How pathetic! He spun around, as if to walk away, but the pain shot up his left leg and he stumbled, his anger evaporating into despair. He leaned against the bungalow door and slowly sank down, sitting on the doorstep. Shock, despair, lack of food and pure exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he passed out gently into darkness.

~

It was three o’clock in the morning as Arabella Figg stood wearily in the middle of the bustling airport. She had been travelling most of the night – returning from an overseas, undercover mission for the order. Unfortunately, she had had to travel the muggle way for security, exhausting though it was and so she was delighted to see a familiar red-head waiting to meet her by the doors.

“Bill! How lovely to see you!”

Bill Weasley grinned and strode over.

“Arabella.”

He took one of her bags and they walked outside, towards the apparation spot. She gripped his arm tightly and they were whisked away, landing neatly on the tiled floor of her kitchen. She sighed. _Home._

“Cup of tea?” she offered.

Bill shook his head reluctantly. “Sorry Arabella – I really should get back,” he apologised. She nodded.

“Wait a moment while I hang my coat up, and I’ll see you off.” She went out into the hall and Bill waited, letting his gaze wander curiously. Mrs Figg’s home was almost purely muggle – what his father wouldn’t do for the chance to visit. Bill smiled at the thought. Now, that _would_ be funny to see…

His thoughts were interrupted by a gasp of shock from the hall.

“Bill!”

He ran into the hall and saw Mrs Figg at the front door. Joining her he realised what had made her call. Pale and shivering and huddled up in a feeble attempt to shelter from the cold rain was –

“ _Harry…_ ” Bill whispered, but shook himself.

“We need to get him inside.”

 

Charlie Weasley woke up with a start to a quiet knocking on the door.

“Charlie!” Bill’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “ _Charlie!_ ” He pushed himself out of bed quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Come in,” he called back quietly. Bill entered, not bothering to shut the door behind him, and speaking almost at once.

“Put something on, quickly. I need your help.”

His older brother’s tone was anxious and impatient, moving Charlie into obeying automatically. He opened his wardrobe, reaching for his robes.

A minute or so later Charlie arrived downstairs, fully clothed and awake. Bill was standing by the fireplace, tapping his foot impatiently, but stopped when Charlie entered.

“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, watching his brother’s expression.

“It’ll take too long to explain,” Bill replied tersely. “We need to get moving now. Got your healing stuff?” Charlie nodded, worried. When he had become a member of the Order, he had started a healing course on top of his other duties. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew enough to make himself useful – and that was something. As he followed his brother into the floo network the way he had done for the Order of the Phoenix so many times before, he could only hope that his very basic healing training would be enough to help.

~

They had arrived back at Grimmauld place at around half-past four that morning. Charlie and Tonks had gone straight to their rooms after helping Bill get Harry to his, but Bill had remained in the kitchen as the dawn grew clearer. He wondered about the details of what had happened, but knew it was unlikely that he’d get much from Harry. He’d turned much more secretive this summer, and with him, Ron and Hermione – it was with them he would have to leave the task of persuading Harry to open up.

But at least Harry would be alright for now. It was lucky that Charlie was still in London for Bill and Fleur’s wedding; when he had reached Mrs Figg’s house, Charlie had gone straight to Harry’s side…

“Hold him upright, Bill,” Charlie said. Bill did so as Charlie raised his left hand and felt Harry's forehead, before taking his pulse and checking his breathing.

“Well?”

“Moderate hypothermia. Commonly the result of being exposed to cold and wet conditions for an extended amount of time.” Bill looked sideways at him. His younger brother looked pale and nervous, and his voice was odd, as though he were reciting from memory.

Charlie took a deep breath. _Okay, I can do this._

“We need a towel or something,” he said over his shoulder, and heard Mrs Figg hurry to oblige. He placed the tip of his wand on Harry's chest. A warm light radiated out of it for a second, and then the spell was absorbed. Charlie gave a sigh of relief as he felt Harry's pulse slowly return to a normal rate and a little colour return to Harry's face. He pocketed his wand, and stood up.

“Come on; let’s get him back to Headquarters.”

As people began to stir upstairs, Bill got to his feet and started to make something for breakfast.


	3. Chapter Three

Harry sat in one of the many drawing rooms at Grimmauld Place, gazing absent-mindedly at his transfiguration text book. It had been several days since his departure from number four and the effects had nearly worn off – he had been so exhausted that he had slept through half the day, and when he woke up, his left wrist and the left side of his face had been sore and aching; they still were, though his leg seemed to be immediately better.

He hadn’t explained much of what had happened to Bill and Charlie, despite all of their concerned curiosity, but Hermione and Ron deserved the full story. He had found it hard to talk about at first, but eventually it had all spilled out. They had been angry with him for not telling them, and _furious_ with the way his uncle had treated him. Harry hadn’t dared explain some of the things that had happened when he was younger; he couldn’t bring himself to make Hermione shout any louder. _If that was actually possible…_

Harry didn’t like keeping secrets from them, but what was he supposed to do? Pour out a ‘tragic’ childhood like the star-struck attention-seeker he reputably was? _Fat chance. In fact,_ Dudley _-sized chance, hah._ Anyway, what could they do to change it? Not a thing. So there was no point in telling them. Right.

Although it was harder now. Old images and vivid memories flickered back to life as though he had unlocked a door in his mind. He could still hear his uncle’s drunken shouts and curses echoing, could still see the beast of a man coming at him, distorted into a raging monster by the half-light of the kitchen…

~ 

Dinner was rather awkward, as it had been for the past few days – with Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione all remarkably silent, each for their own reasons, the mood at the table was stiff and the normally extensive conversations quick to fall into the silence. But it passed quickly enough and everyone trouped towards the sitting room – except Ginny. She slipped out, into the hall and up the stairs before her mother could call her back. Reaching her room, she opened the window and sat on the sill, her heels tapping the outside wall of the house with every swing of her legs. It was a clear night – a full moon. Ginny felt a flash of empathy for Remus, who had gone away to stay at a hostel or something, a place for werewolves to transform without harming others; a grim place, by all accounts. Slowly, she drifted into reverie, but a soft knock on the door pulled her back to reality. She looked around.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” _Harry_. _Oh, Merlin._ She paused, but could not think up an excuse. Maybe it was time to talk.

“Come in.”

He came in slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. As she watched him shut the door, she moved along the windowsill so that there was space for two. He joined her. They sat in silence for several minutes, letting the cool summer air wash over them. Harry was the first to speak.

“What’s wrong?”

Ginny stared out into the square.

“It’s not you.” _Ok, that’s a big fat lie._ “Alright, it is.” Harry looked bewildered, and for a moment Ginny felt an irrational urge to burst out laughing. He was so cute when he was confused.

“I just…that day, when you told me we couldn’t be…” she searched for the right word; ‘together’ seemed to insinuate far more permanence than she wanted to admit to thinking about – at least for the moment.

“Together.” Harry spoke quietly, as if reading her thoughts. She swallowed and nodded, taking care not to look at him. She knew that if she did, she might forget what she wanted to say, and this was too important to be left unmentioned.

“Well, you said what you said, and I wanted you to be happy – I thought it was the right thing to do. Then I realized – what about me? I just –” she faltered, losing her thread, but rallied again.

“I realized that letting you go off and save the world, letting you leave me behind like some pathetic, soppy fairytale princess in her tower, was the wrong thing to do. Because I’m not a princess. Because this isn’t a fairytale. And because – because –” she took a deep breath. _This is it._ “Because I really like you, Harry. And it’s not some silly eleven-year-old crush any more. It’s real.” She faltered, not quite knowing what to say next, or even if she should say anything at all. Beside her, Harry found that his mouth had gone so dry he could barely speak. Thoughts suddenly spiralled into the forefront of his mind – possibilities, plans, _futures_. If she meant what she said...maybe things didn’t have to be this way, maybe he didn’t have to be lonely…

But before he could say any of this out loud, Ginny swung herself back inside the room, looking away.

“But if you don’t feel the same way, it – it doesn’t matter. Just don’t go off and laugh about it with whoever.” She spoke quickly, not wanting to be stopped, feeling as though her world was dangling by a thread about to break. She was going to cry, she knew it. The best thing she could do would be to get away. Next to her, Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry –” he started.

“Forget it.”

“No! I meant - I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression.” Ginny’s world, about to be shattered forever, froze.

“What do you mean?” She looked around.

He coughed, went red, and said, nervously,

“I – I really like you too, Gin.”

“Do you mean it?” She hardly dared to breathe.

“Yes.” She could hear the strength in his voice; he looked at her and their eyes met, brown on green. “Yes. I was wrong to push you off like that. It was stupid. I’m sorry…” His voice faded away. Harry swallowed, and continued, “…I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He was aware that he was repeating himself and stopped. He realised that Ginny was biting her lip, trying not to laugh, and began to smile reluctantly.

“It’s okay, Harry. Just …oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What nothing?”

She looked at him sharply, and saw he was teasing her. She started to giggle. He laughed too – and she knew that she had made the right decision.

~ 

A week or so passed.

They visited Diagon Alley as a group, all of them cloaked, hooded, and the youngest – Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione – supervised at all times; the necessities for the next school year were bought, as well as several carefully planned purchases, secreted in the bottom of various bags. Ginny’s birthday was early August, and Harry had been determined to get her something that she would like. Luckily, he had seen the perfect thing in the corner of Madam Malkin’s – a cobwebbed black scarf with the different colours of the rainbow woven into it. He had wrapped it up, and it now sat hidden in the bottom of his trunk, next to his new school books.

After much discussion, he, Ron and Hermione had decided that it would be safest to attend Hogwarts – there simply was no way they could excuse not being there. Ginny was going, so Ron couldn’t claim that his parents wanted him to stay at home; most of their housemates knew Harry hated living with his relatives, and as for Hermione, well, no-one could imagine Hermione Granger skipping her studies, no matter what the situation. Ginny had pointed this out, much to Ron and Harry’s amusement. Also, it would be easier for them to get in and out – even with the extra precautions, Hogwarts couldn’t compare to Grimmauld Place.

Ginny joined them most of the time now. It had been just Ron, Harry and Hermione for so long that it was hard to come up with anything new; but Ginny brought a fresh perspective on every discussion. Now, Harry found it hard to believe that they’d ever shut her out before. Bill and Fleur’s wedding had passed quickly, in a blur of lights and music. He remembered dancing with Ginny, her red hair coming loose from its pretty bun and her face glowing in the candlelight…

“Checkmate.”

Harry looked back down at the chessboard with a start. Ron and he had started playing about an hour ago; Ron seemed to be taking so long to make his move that Harry had gotten lost in thought. Now his best friend was grinning happily at the board, and at the complex arrangement of white pieces surrounding Harry’s black ones.

“Okay.” They were just starting to pack away the pieces when Hermione stuck her head around the door and whispered,

“The meeting’s finished.” Harry and Ron quickly put down the pieces they were holding and followed her out to the landing, where Ginny was dangling four extendable ears down the stairwell. She looked annoyed.

“Hurry up! They’re almost gone!” The other three grabbed an ear each and leant down carefully to see what they could make out, which turned out to be the closing of the front door.

“Damn it, they’re getting quicker every time,” Ginny said quietly, and Harry nodded in agreement. The four of them hadn’t been able to listen to the meetings themselves since Mrs Weasley had taken to regularly using several charms in combination on the door – ones that even Fred and George’s ‘Mark II’ could not penetrate - but sometimes the Order members would still be talking about the meeting as they came out. Lately this had happened less and less, and Harry was beginning to wonder if they knew that they were being listened to. He pulled up the extendable ear and carefully rolled it back up as the others did the same. They looked at each other and Hermione sighed.

“This is ridiculous. It’s not working.” Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, “Genius.” Harry nudged him. Ron and Hermione didn’t need to fall out now. Again.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Ginny suggested, “Mum’ll have dinner ready soon.” Ron nodded and they began to make their way downstairs. As they reached the kitchen door, someone spoke.

“Oh, Mr Potter – could I have a word?” Harry turned around, and saw Professor McGonagall looking at him.

“Of course, Professor.” He kept his voice and face neutral, wary. He knew that she – and every other Order member, probably – was still curious about what he had learnt from Professor Dumbledore. She however, smiled wryly at this reaction and walked away from him into the sitting room. Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

“See you in a bit, then,” Ron said, as Harry followed McGonagall’s lead. The room was empty except for Professor McGonagall, Harry and, for some reason, Charlie Weasley, who was watching the other two carefully. Professor McGonagall began at once.

“As you may or may not know, Mr Potter, I have been placed in the position of new Headmistress at Hogwarts.” Harry nodded. Her promotion had been in the Daily Prophet the day before. “It has therefore fallen to me to arrange the staff for the approaching school year. I have found a suitable candidate for each empty position but feel that there is one professor who need not remain at the school, particularly since the subject she teaches is not obligatory.” Harry guessed she was talking about Trelawney; he knew she had never particularly liked the over-dramatic Divination professor, and no doubt had always wondered why Professor Dumbledore allowed her to remain in her position. “I understand that Professor Dumbledore had a reason to keep Professor Trelawney at the school. I wish to know if you are aware of what this reason might be, and if it still stands.” She was watching him carefully, and Harry realised that she was unsure of what his answer would be. He thought it through for a moment and decided to answer her question as honestly as possible without breaking his promise to Professor Dumbledore.

“Professor Trelawney was the one who made the prophecy about me and Voldemort.” He spoke quietly and kept his eyes on Professor McGonagall, but in the corner of his eye he saw Charlie sit up and start paying even closer attention. Professor McGonagall returned his gaze and for a moment said nothing – but then she seemed to visibly crumple.

“Very well. Thank you, Mr Potter.” She reached inside her bag and brought out a sealed scroll of parchment.

“Professor Dumbledore left this to you, Mr Potter.” She smiled thinly at his puzzled face and handed him the scroll. “My apologies that it has taken this long for it to reach you.” With this, she swept gracefully out of the room. Charlie remained where he was.

“You all right, Harry?” he asked cautiously. Harry pulled his eyes from the scroll and glanced up.

“I’m fine.” 

~ 

He didn’t get a chance to look at it until much later, when he was back in the room he and Ron shared. He sat down on his bed, broke the seal and began to read.

_A brief note for you, Harry. I believe you will already have as much information as you need, but I have one final piece of advice. There may come a time when you will be required to trust whom you would loath to. I understand your feelings on this matter but urge you to realise that this is neither the time nor the place for personal vendettas. Learn to focus your anger on the one who began it all and him alone.  
 _P.S; I would recommend a book by the title “Destruction of Destruction” for your reading.__   


He had just began to reread it, hoping for a greater understanding, when Ron, Hermione and Ginny came in. Both Ron and Hermione looked remarkably red in the face, as though they had been arguing, but Ginny appeared quite pleased about it – Harry wondered if she had started it. He’d noticed that Ginny often would deliberately comment on something in a way that would irritate the two of them, but had not yet worked out why.

“Hi Harry!” Ginny said perkily, sitting down next to him. She had her hair up in two pigtails which bounced as she moved. As she turned, one of them brushed against his shoulder and he hoped he wouldn’t go red. Ron and Hermione seemed to have forgotten their argument – Hermione was looking curiously at the parchment in Harry’s hands.

“What’s that, Harry?”

“Yeah, we were talking downstairs and we realised you weren’t there.” This was Ron, grinning sheepishly.

“Actually,” Hermione started, “I think you’ll find it was _me_ who noticed he was gone –”

Ron turned to argue back but Ginny’s expression stopped him.

“Go on, Harry.”

“Professor Dumbledore left this for me.”

Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other.

“What does it say?” asked Ron. Harry passed him the letter, thinking. Maybe there was something he’d missed – maybe Dumbledore was being deliberately cryptic. Frustrating not to know, he thought, but hopefully Dumbledore would have had a good reason. One piece of advice stuck, though: ‘ _Keep your friends close, Harry.’_ He knew he would – the Dursley’s had never been a family to him, but they had. He smiled. He didn’t need his Aunt and Uncle anymore. Perhaps he never really had.

~

A day or two later, on the morning of Harry’s birthday, the Weasley’s and Hermione got up a little earlier than usual. They came quietly downstairs in ones and twos, adding a present to the little pile on the kitchen table. The last one in was Ron, yawning and nodding to say that Harry was still asleep. A few quiet minutes later, they heard footsteps on the floor above, but jumped when the owl tapped loudly on the kitchen window. Charlie quickly let it in, and the owl deposited a copy of the Daily Prophet into his hands. He looked in horror at the blazing headline:

_MASS MURDER IN SURREY._

Charlie turned, shocked, to see a white-faced Harry standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and aching with lack of sleep. For a moment no one said anything. Then Harry spoke.

“They’re all dead.”


	4. Chapter Four

“They’re all dead.”

The room was completely silent. Everyone was watching Harry, who was still in his pyjamas. Charlie pushed the word out as hard as possible, but somehow it still came out as a whisper.

“Who?”

“The Dursleys.”

His voice was dull and bland, as though he didn’t care, but Ron could see that the emotion behind his best friend’s eyes was fighting to get out. Harry gave a small, humourless smile.

“Just thought you should know.” He looked over to the headline of the newspaper that Charlie still held in his hand. “I guess I didn’t have to bother.” He looked lost; he was trying to sound in control, indifferent, but it was clear that he could break down at any moment.

“You saw it.” Ginny realised. Harry met her eyes briefly before looking away again.

“Every second of it.” His eyes were focused firmly on the floor.

“What are you going to do?” Ginny asked, not knowing what else to say. Harry gave another humourless smile.

“Try and get some sleep. Try not to go insane.” He turned and left, and they could hear each of his footsteps echo softly up the wooden stairs. Ginny took a step towards the door as though to follow him, but stopped when Ron looked at her and shook his head. He glanced at Hermione, who had her hand over her mouth in shock, and waited for her to pull herself together. She did, slowly.

“We shouldn’t leave him alone.” Ginny spoke softly. Hermione and Ron nodded.

~ 

When they pushed open the door, Harry was curled up on the bed facing away from them. Ginny came to perch on the bottom of the bed, Ron sat on his and Hermione leant against the windowsill.

“We know you’re awake, Harry.” There was a pause, and Harry rolled over to look at them, stretching.

“Unfortunately.” Now she was closer, Ginny could see that his eyes were wide in that unnatural, sleepless way, and darkly circled. The pale hands that rested against the headboard of the bed as he sat up were bruised and cut along the knuckles.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, her eyes also drawn to her best friend’s hands. He shrugged.

“When I woke up they were like that.” Ginny moved closer and went to take his hand in hers, but he flinched away automatically.

“Let me see.” Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t a request. He relaxed. Ginny turned his hands palm-down in hers to see.

“It looks like you’ve hit something hard,” she said curiously, “but I can’t see how.”

“Maybe you punched the wall in your sleep,” Ron suggested, his eyes on the wall next to Harry’s bed. Harry and Ginny looked around: there were flecks of red on the green paint. Harry nodded wearily.

“Probably.”

They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Then Hermione stood up.

“Ron, come on.” They left. Ginny was desperate for something she could say; Harry was sitting almost completely still, and she could see that he was emotionally exhausted. But he needed to talk…she made the decision.

“Tell me?”

Harry looked at her and nodded. He made as if to speak, but stopped, frowning.

“I don’t know where to start.” He sounded thoughtful, and Ginny gave a little giggle. He looked at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Never mind.” She pulled herself together. _Now is not the time to think like that. Silly teenage thoughts aren’t going to help!_ She blinked and shook the thoughts from her head. He was still looking at her, eyebrows raised in tired scepticism, but she shook her head. He began to explain, how he had had a headache yesterday evening and had been fighting for the release of sleep – when the headache had suddenly stopped. He must have fallen asleep then, feeling peaceful and unusually relaxed, but when he opened his eyes he knew he was no longer at Grimmauld Place. He could feel the pressure of Voldemort’s will squeezing in from all directions as he was forced to watch first his uncle’s, then cousin and aunt’s deaths through the eyes of their killer, before Voldemort moved to other houses, other families. He fought constantly to wake up, but by the time he did it was almost nine o’clock; Voldemort had been replaying the images over and over, trapping Harry in his mind. As he told her this, she reached across and put her arm over his shoulder. He turned to her.

“I kept trying to wake up and tell someone, but…” he trailed off, rubbing his scar out of habit. There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Ginny. Hermione and Ron appeared in the doorway and came in, shutting the door behind them. Hermione was carrying a small vial of familiar purple liquid. _Dreamless sleep potion,_ Ginny realised. _Well done, Hermione._ She knew that her mother kept a small supply in the bottom of the kitchen cupboard since Ginny had suffered from violent nightmares after her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets. How glad she had been to find out that Harry wasn’t going to be staying at the Burrow that summer. Hermione came to sit next to Harry and passed him the vial.

“Dreamless sleep,” she said. He sighed. “Thanks, Hermione.” He glanced almost apologetically at Ginny. “I’m going to try and catch up some sleep.” She smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek, ignoring Ron’s expression.

“See you later.”

~  

It was lunchtime when Harry woke up to Ron searching through his drawers for something. He saw Harry getting up and asked, “A bit better?” Harry nodded, his stomach rumbling. Ron grinned.

“Mum thought you’d be hungry when you woke up – she’s doing sandwiches for everyone in the kitchen. Coming?”

“Yeah, just a minute.” Harry pulled on a shirt and jeans instead of his pyjamas, and they went downstairs.

After lunch, which despite being delicious still seemed difficult to eat, Harry and Ron joined Hermione in the library. Her sandwich was sitting untouched next to a pile of books and parchment.

“Are you going to eat that?” Ron asked hopefully. Hermione glanced at him in irritation and took a bite out of it. Ron and Harry sat down next to her, and she looked pointedly at the bookshelves.

“Right.” Harry and Ron got up and started browsing through the shelves again, often rejoining her at the table to leaf through a particularly promising book. Harry found a huge tome entitled ‘Revenge and Avengement’ and, more to break up the monotony than anything else, sat down to read.

He was aware that Hermione was watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye. She and everyone else had been watching him in the same way since he woke up, and he could tell why with dull familiarity. It was the same as the looks he’d gotten after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, after the battle at the department of mysteries, after Dumbledore’s death on the astronomy tower – and now after the deaths of his last living relatives. It was pity; pity and wariness, as though he might do something, suddenly, at any moment. Harry smiled grimly to himself. Do what? Burst into tears? Explode? Slit his wrists? He didn’t do anything. He _hadn’t_ done anything – yet. Harry shifted his weight and turned a dry, crackling page in the book he was supposed to be reading. His eyes slid slowly along the lines of ancient print, not taking anything in, feeling Hermione’s eyes on the back of his neck.

In actuality he felt numb. Save for the short but blissfully dreamless sleep that had given him a few hours of rest, the images of the Dursley’s deaths had flickered constantly through his mind – and the deaths of many others. His aunt, uncle and cousin had not been the only ones who had died, they were merely the first. The faces of the innocent people screamed at him in his mind. He had spent the entire afternoon trying to forget – the sky outside was already beginning to darken – but he could not. So it was with sickening clarity that he saw the horrific attack replayed over and over in his head, heard the tearing screams and the laughter of the Death Eaters, felt his face – no, _Voldemort’s_ face – twist into a malicious smile as the green light filled the air. And he could still hear the echo of Voldemort’s words, quietly spoken in parseltongue only for Harry’s ears; ‘ _Happy Birthday, Potter…’_ and as he fought to escape, ‘ _Stay awhile, boy, and see what you have caused…you left them to die, Potter…you might think you are perfect, powerful, that you can protect those around you, but you cannot…you cannot save them all.”_

So he had retreated into numbness and apathy, avoiding above all any mention of the events that repeated endlessly in his mind, like a film that only he could see. He knew that he could not stay silent for ever, but perhaps if he left it a little longer it would be easier…just a little longer…

They continued in near-silence for another half an hour, before Harry slid a final book back into place and sat down, discouraged.

“We’re going about this the wrong way.” Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. The musty table was piled high with even mustier books. They as yet _still_ hadn’t found ‘Destruction of Destruction’, so had began to look up defensive spells of all kinds.

“I don’t see what else we can do, until we find -” But she was interrupted by Ginny, who had just walked in, quickly shutting the door behind her and collapsing theatrically on a chair next to Harry.

“What?” he asked. She grinned.

“I was just on my way downstairs when I heard Charlie say something about the Order, so I stopped to listen. And you’ll never guess…” she paused dramatically. Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron.

“Fred and George are selling to the Order!” She waited expectantly for a response, but only Ron spoke what Hermione and Harry were thinking.

“I don’t get it.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “If Fred and George are selling to the Order, then…” suddenly, Harry understood.

“They must have something good,” he finished. Ginny nodded.

“From the way Charlie and Tonks were talking, it sounds like the first they heard about it was at last night’s meeting. Apparently the Order received a very professional letter from Fred and George asking whether they would be interested in –” she stifled a giggle “– a display of items.” Ron snorted in laughter and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“ _Honestly,_ Ron. But if they have something they want the Order to see, why not just give it to Bill or Charlie?”

“They want to be taken seriously,” Ron voiced. “They don’t want people to treat them as just someone’s little brothers.” Harry glanced at him, surprised at his tone of voice but understanding. Ginny shrugged.

“They’ve been invited to join a meeting in a couple of week’s time. We’ll find out then, I suppose.” She changed the subject. “Anyway, how are you doing? Did you find it yet?”

Hermione shook her head.

“No luck yet. I just don’t know what else we can look for.”

“What about the spell Voldemort used to bring himself back?” Harry asked, bringing the idea that he had been turning over in his mind to the conversation. Hermione frowned.

“Didn’t he say that he invented it?” Harry thought back.

“No,” he remembered, “he just said it was an old piece of dark magic.”

“Not exactly helpful. Unless…” Hermione bit her lip. “It must’ve been some kind of…yes…” She put down the book she was holding and went back to the shelves. Ron looked at Harry and shrugged. A minute later, Hermione came back with two particularly old books on dark magic – the library had quite an interesting section on it. She dropped the books down on the table with a thump, causing dust to fly everywhere and Harry, Ron and Ginny to cough, waving it away. Hermione opened the first book.

“I saw this earlier; it’s about the basics of Dark Magic…” she skimmed the contents page and flicked through the crumbling pages (more dust wafted everywhere) to the appropriate place, and began to read.

“For any spell of dark origins to take permanent and strong effect, it must be supplemented by two bases, or strong points, of previously performed dark magic or negative energies.” She closed the book again, and took out the other. “This one was next to it, but I hadn’t looked through it yet.” Harry couldn’t see the title of the book – it had been away worn by time – but it was black and heavy, and Hermione squinted as she read the tiny print of the contents.

“If one wishes to return bodily form to one who has sunk to the darkest depths, there are few measures that can be taken…” She sunk into silence, her finger following the mass of text, before turning it around and pointing out a section to Harry, which he recognised immediately.

_“Bone of the father, unknowingly given…”_

He continued reading. It was word-for word the spell Voldemort had used to return. The text surrounding it pointed out that its potency depended entirely on the strength of the various ingredients, and of the strength of what it called the spell’s ‘anchor points’. He repeated this to Ron and Ginny. Ron frowned, and then shook his head, looking at Hermione expectantly. She raised her eyebrows and began to explain.

“The first book says that, for a piece of dark magic to be long lasting, it needs to be near two or more places where dark magic has been performed before – preferably between them.” She took the second book off Harry and continued. “This one tells us about the spell that Voldemort used to bring himself back. It says that the ‘anchor points’ – that’s the places where dark magic has been performed before – have to be very strong, and very personal to the person performing the spell.”

“So…” Ron finished, the light dawning on his face, “that means that two of the Horcruxes must be near the place that the spell was performed.”

“Exactly; and if one was at the Gaunt’s house, then the other one shouldn’t be too far away.” Hermione looked pleased. Harry took the book back from her to take another look at the passage, but as he did he felt something shift under his fingers, and the corner of something slim slipped out from inside the book’s dust cover. He tugged at it, and it came loose. It was a small, black, leather bound book, and as he turned it over and saw the title etched on the cover, his heart beat faster and he smiled.

“I found it,” he said. The title of the book read ‘Destruction of Destruction’.

~ 

Dinner that night was wonderful, but somewhat subdued. It would have been, as Mrs Weasley explained when she took Harry aside, much more celebratory, but “we didn’t want to be so tactless, so it’s been toned down a bit, dear, if that’s alright.” However, Bill and Fleur were there to happily announce that they had found an old cottage in some northern village, by the sea, called _Shell Cottage._ Fleur was ecstatic about it – “Ze most _beautiful_ view!” – and Bill seemed pretty happy about the decision. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were taken by surprise when Fleur turned to them and said, “But of course, you will probably ‘ear enough of zis from Gabrielle. She starts at ‘ogwarts zis September.”

Ginny looked puzzled, mirroring the faces of everyone else.

“But won’t she be going to Beauxbatons?” Fleur shrugged and made pulled and expression as if to say ‘how would I know?’. Harry noticed that even Hermione was beginning to warm to her now. She explained that Gabrielle had _inseested_ to their parents that if her sister was going to live in England where the danger was, then she would to. They had said no, that she was too young, that she didn’t know anyone there, that it was too dangerous – but after having locked herself in her room for several days, she had managed to convince them.

However, they had made her promise to write once a week, and to be very careful. Fleur seemed worried about it herself, but said that “Ze attacks are spreading across France now; and Beauxbatons ees not nearly as well protected as ‘ogwarts.”

The rest of the evening passed slowly. Harry still felt numb, but a dull ache of sorrow was beginning to grow inside his chest. He may not have liked the Dursleys, he might’ve even hated them some of the time, but…they were family. Blood relatives. The only ones he had had.

So he was glad for the distraction when Mrs Weasley brought out a small, brightly wrapped present – and the others followed suit. From Ron he got a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans; from Ginny, a case for his glasses that was supposed to clean them automatically; from Hermione, a book on defensive spells – although when he went to open it she nudged him sharply and he took the hint. When he later got a chance to look at it, he realised that the dust cover was from another book. The actual contents were much darker, and the first page gave the true title: “Darkness in Defence – When Light Is Not Enough.” He was surprised, but merely nodded at her in thanks. The brightly wrapped little box from Mr and Mrs Weasley turned out to be a watch much like Ron had gotten for his seventeenth – it was red and gold, with tiny ruby hands with gold stars on the ends. He thanked them profusely, but was quick to take advantage of the chance to withdraw to his and Ron’s room. He and Ron went to bed early, and although Ron’s snores could probably have been heard on the other side of the country, Harry lay awake for most of the night, gazing at the ceiling. 

~ 

The next day and those after it were awkward. They had read through ‘Destruction of Destruction’, and discovered the passage that Dumbledore must have been referring to:

“ _And of the Horcruxe, the moste evill of magikal devices, onlie one spelle may be deemed effective, this being the words “Finio Inanis”, spoken so with force and resolve – only this will destroy the spirit within.”_  Despite this, and despite having researched the location of Little Hangleton and planned their exit from Grimmauld Place carefully, no one seemed willing to say what had to be said: no one wanted to be the one to suggest a leaving date. So as the tension rose slowly, they spent their days looking over defensive spells in the Black Family Library, and duelling against each other in one of the upper drawing rooms that had long ago been cleared of furniture. Ginny’s birthday came and went; she was delighted with her scarf, and to the Weasley brothers’ great amusement turned Harry bright red by kissing him on the cheek in thanks.

Three days before the beginning of the new school term, Lupin returned to Grimmauld Place grey and tired, to announce that there had been attacks and reported sightings of the Dark Mark as far as Germany and Bulgaria.

“He’s spreading out – their numbers are growing,” he said wearily. “He probably doesn’t have the kind of power there that he does in England, but he knows enough to frighten people into believing it.” Fenrir Greyback had been leading the attacks in Bulgaria, and one incident in particular had sparked waves of horror and fear throughout Europe, an attack on a well known Bulgarian wizarding family; the parents had been bitten on the night of the full moon and locked in a room with their three children. In their transformed state, the parents had killed two and bitten the third.

Harry had gone very quiet during the announcement, but when they had a private moment he turned to the other three, a determined light in his eyes.

“We leave tonight.”


	5. Chapter Five

As the hands on the small clock reached half-past twelve, a pair of bright green eyes snapped open in the darkness. Harry pushed the blankets back and got out of bed, fully clothed. He stepped softly across the room to Ron and shook him awake, his hand ready to jump over his best friend’s mouth if he made too much noise by accident. But Ron just scrunched up his face in tiredness as he awoke and silently pushed himself out of bed, glancing at the clock. He was also fully dressed. The two boys bent down and took their broomsticks and rucksacks out from under their respective beds, and, as Harry opened the window, Ron went to the door and looked out into the hallway. Hermione and Ginny were half-way down the corridor, treading carefully on the old floor boards to make as little noise as possible. Five minutes later, they were ready to go.

The house was silent as Ginny hugged each of them goodbye. When she got to Harry, she didn’t let go immediately but held him close for a moment, whispering “Good luck!” before stepping back. The trio were silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window, but Ginny could still see the expressions of grim determination on each of their faces. Ron raised his hand on a mock salute which Ginny jokingly returned. The three of them turned, Ron and Harry with their broomsticks and Hermione with Ginny’s, and Hermione cast disillusionment charms before they climbed one by one out of the window and flew away.

Ginny watched the almost invisible figures disappear into the night sky for a few moments before tip-toeing back to her room, wondering how she was going to explain this to her mother in the morning. 

~ 

Ginny woke up early the next morning, unable to stay asleep. She waited patiently until she heard her mother clattering around the kitchen before coming downstairs. She was surprised to see when she entered the underground kitchen that her father had not yet left for work and was having a very serious-sounding conversation with Bill and Charlie. They looked around when Ginny walked in.

“Morning,” she said sleepily, moving over to the cupboard for a glass and some orange juice.

“Morning Ginny.” Bill sounded uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and Ginny looked up from pouring her juice.

“What’s going on?” she asked, but he avoided her eyes. Charlie and her father glanced at each other, and Bill ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s really nothing for you to worry about…”

Ginny raised her eyebrows and Bill visibly gave in.

“The outer wards on the house were breached last night – from the inside,” he explained. “It was only for a couple of seconds, but it would’ve been enough for someone to leave.”

“Oh,” she breathed, suddenly realising what must have happened. Her father looked at her.

“Do you know anything about this, Ginny?” he asked. She shrugged, thinking carefully.

“What time last night?”

“About a quarter to one,” said Charlie slowly, “why?” Ginny didn’t look up, but busied herself making toast.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, then,” she said quietly, “it was probably just Harry, Ron and Hermione. That’s about the time they left.” All movement in the kitchen ceased. Ginny knew that everyone was looking at her, but she resolutely ignored them until her father spoke again.

“What do you mean, they left?”

Ginny sighed.

“Exactly what I said.” She turned around in her seat. Fred and George, who had been eating porridge at the table were staring at her, their eyes wide.

“Come on, you don’t mean you didn’t guess?” She looked at their stunned faces and raised her eyebrows. “Harry has things to do. And you know Ron and Hermione would never let him go alone.” The words stuck slightly in her throat, but she pushed them out all the same. Ron and Hermione had not let him go alone – but she had.

~ 

It was drizzling in Greater Hangleton, the sun just beginning to push its light through the clouds to shine dimly on the three cloaked figures making their way down the wide country lane. They approached the village slowly and wearily, and looked around. One of the larger, timber-framed buildings had a sign on the door: _The Forest Inn – Rooms Available_. They made their way towards it. It wasn’t long before the three of them were dropping their bags on the beds of a small upstairs room. Ron looked around sceptically.

“Well. This is going to be fun.”

 ~

The rest of the day passed slowly in Grimmauld Place. The twins were due to meet officially with the Order in the evening, and they spent the entire day at the shop, only coming through the floo to eat lunch in near silence before returning almost immediately. Ginny spent most of her time in the library, researching the four founders of Hogwarts until, at around seven o’clock, Mrs Weasley sent her to her room and various members of the Order began to arrive. In the kitchen, Bill sat with his father and Charlie, one eye on the twins and another on the door.

There were two slim black cases on the table, each about a hand-span across. Fred and George were leaning against the table, their eyes flicking from the Order members trickling in to the cases on the table, and then to each other. Although it wasn’t immediately obvious, Bill knew his brothers well enough to tell that they were very nervous. Slowly the room was filled and he shut the door, waving his wand in a brief imitation of an imperturbable charm. This looked to be an interesting meeting indeed, and he owed his sister a favour. As the door closed, there was a slight scuffling noise on the stairs and on the other side of the door, Ginny shifted position to get a better look through the keyhole. She would have used extendable ears, but knew that if she was caught with them it wouldn’t just be her she was getting in trouble. Back in the kitchen, the talking settled down, and the air was full of sceptical anticipation. Ginny smiled to herself. This had better be good.

~ 

It was dark again by the time Harry, Ron and Hermione left the room. They had spent the day eating the food they had brought with them, and planning how best to approach the problem. Their first place to look would be the Riddle House, but they had decided to wait until nightfall before making their way there.

They walked cautiously up the gravel drive, surrounded on all sides by overgrown hedges and unkempt weeds. The house itself was tall, grey and forbidding, with half-boarded up windows and ivy growing wildly across its walls. The front door was locked so Hermione took out her wand.

“ _Alohomora!_ ” she whispered, and Ron pushed the creaking door so that it swung open. As they entered, Harry half-expected the door to slam shut behind them, but it did not.

~ 

“Friends, welcome. And may I also welcome Messrs Fred and George Weasley, owners and founders of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes, who come before us with a proposal.”

McGonagall nodded at Fred and George and sat down. The twins looked at each other, and Fred began to speak.

“Thank you. We know that most of you are probably pretty unconvinced that the owners of a joke shop would have anything of interest.” There were several titters from the Order members. George picked up where his brother had left off.

“However…a year or so ago we began to think seriously about what we could do to help in the war. We’re not fighters; we’re rubbish duellists except against each other –” there were a few smiles “– but when it comes to making things, we know what we’re doing.”

“We started thinking about what would be useful, and how we could change methods we already use to make something of value.”

Bill could tell that they had spent some time rehearsing this speech, but it didn’t make it any less effective.

“We came up with two main ideas.” Fred gestured to the two cases. “We’d like to point out that neither of these have been patented –”

“ – and nor are there any written instructions on how to make them,” finished George.

“So that means that the only way to find out how to make them…?” asked Kingsley slowly, leaning forwards.

“Is through us,” Fred confirmed.

George slid the first case gently across to the centre of the table and pressed his thumb to the lid, which opened smoothly. Inside, lying gently on some kind of black foam, was a bracelet. It gave a whole new meaning to the word shining; it seemed to glow slightly with an inward light, a smooth circle of silver with enough of a gap to push it onto the wrist. Appreciative murmurs swept the room, and Bill swore softly under his breath.

“Is that…”

“Fovio Argentum.” Fred nodded. He and George both looked very serious. Bill was still staring at the bracelet as he said, “But that’s not…don’t you have to…”

Fred and George looked at each other.

“Register it, yeah,” said Fred, and George continued, “but that’s only if you want the recognition.”

“So to keep this nice and confidential –”

“- we didn’t.” Bill surveyed his twin brothers curiously, aware that he was possibly the only other person in the room who understood this fully.

“You won’t get the patent for it though – and isn’t there a fair bit of prize money?” he asked. George nodded.

“We don’t need it. The shop’s doing well enough on its own,” he said.

“And anyway, this is much more important,” Fred added. Bill was impressed. His younger brothers had changed a lot from when they had begun their business. A voice spoke up from across the table.

“Fovio Argentum – isn’t that a precious metal? I though it wasn’t made anymore…” Bill glanced across to see the Order’s newest recruit looking at him and the twins questioningly. Cariss French was a friend of Tonks’ who worked on the fringes of the Department of Mysteries, as a courier – delivering confidential messages between the various Unspeakables by hand. Fred nodded, and explained.

“It’s one of the materials made only in the wizarding world, because of its properties.”

Bill dragged his eyes away from the bracelet to help.

“Think of all the magical materials on a scale of one to twenty. The Philosopher’s Stone is about twenty, and one would be…I don’t know, a charmed brick, something anyone could make. That stuff,” he gestured to the bracelet, “is about a thirteen.” Charlie whistled softly and the room broke into whispers. Tonks looked at the twins.

“So how did you get it?”

“We made it.”

~ 

The inside of the house was covered in inch-thick dust and cobwebs that could have come, Harry thought, from a bad-quality horror film. It took them ten minutes to explore the lower levels, but upon finding nothing they moved up to the second floor.

They walked along and around extensive lengths of dusty corridor for what felt like hours, but in reality was a mere twenty minutes, before arriving back at the central stairwell. Harry’s frustration was growing. He had been so sure that they would find a Horcrux here; but the whole house seemed to be empty. He looked up at the other two.

“Well?” he whispered. “What do you want to do?”

Hermione bit her lip and shrugged.

“If it’s not here…” she trailed off. If the Horcrux wasn’t here, they would have to start again. Harry looked at Ron. His best friend was gazing at the corridors around them, frowning.

“This isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. In response, Ron knelt down and began to draw something in the dust on the floor. Harry and Hermione leant over to see a rough plan of the building. Ron pointed to where they were.

“This is us. And this,” he drew a line that curved around and through the corridors and rooms, “is where we’ve walked. But if you look –”

“There’s a missing room!” It seemed obvious; looking at the plan, they had missed a room on the east side of the house.

“But how did we miss it? We walked all around that bit!” Hermione said. Harry shrugged and re-adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Come on, then.”

They retraced their steps until they reached the stretch of wall separating them from the ‘missing’ room. Ron made another plan in the dust, and they walked around three sides of the room, but could find no door.

“Great,” Harry said, “now what do we do?”

“Give me a minute.”

Hermione paced up and down, muttering to herself. Finally she took out her wand, and with it drew a strange symbol – Harry supposed it was some kind of rune – on the wall in purple light. The rune sank into the wall, which seemed to shimmer before their eyes and transform into a door. Hermione smiled. Ron and Harry just stared at her.

“How did you –”

“When we were looking for “Destruction of Destruction”, I found a few other books. I’ve been studying them since I found them,” Hermione explained distractedly. She was now running the tip of her wand along the sides of the door, little blue sparks tracing the outlines of more runes. Eventually she nodded to herself and put her hand on the handle, looking at Ron and Harry, who were still staring her in astonishment. She grinned.

“I’ve been telling you for years – it’s amazing what you can learn from a book.”

~ 

“How long does it take you to make one of those?” Tonks asked curiously.

“Each one takes about a month to make; but it’s possible to make more than one at a time,” said George.

“So, depending on circumstances, we could have fifteen ready for use by November,” Fred said. Charlie nodded in understanding, but asked,

“What circumstances?”

“Well,” George began, “Both of us are normally in the shop if it’s busy, so it’s a matter of getting the work done when we’re not going to be interrupted or asked why we’re not out front.”

“And then the process itself isn’t perfect. Everything has to be done very precisely – and if it’s not then we have to start all over again,” Fred finished.

“So,” said a grey-haired witch at the back of the room, “what do they actually do?” The twins glanced at each other, and George started to explain.

“They do a few things, but their main purpose is to identify.”

“These bracelets,” continued Fred, lifting one out of the case to reveal another just underneath it, “once activated, cannot be taken from their owner and still work. Take them off of their original owner’s wrist and they stop working completely. Even if they are put back on again, it doesn’t matter – they’re one use only.”

“So it’s proof that a person is who they say they are,” Tonks realised.

“Yes. Also, the tag on this one,” Fred indicated a small disc that dangled from the bracelet, “is blank. But put it on and it will change to represent your patronus...”

“…which means that even if someone else managed to make it work on them, the shape of the patronus would change.” George completed. Cariss French spoke up again.

“But couldn’t the person who’d stolen it just use polyjuice?” Bill answered for the twins.

“No. Even if a person uses polyjuice potion, their patronus would remain the same.” There were a few more questions before the talk died down.

“No more questions?” Fred checked. There were none. “Good.”

Someone from the back called,

“What’s in the other box?”

~ 

The trio stepped carefully into the darkened room. It was an almost perfect square, and in the middle of one wall was a large window that had been roughly boarded up. There were several wooden chairs in one corner, and the whole room smelt old and dead. Suddenly there was a loud bang, and the three of them jumped around; this time the door had shut behind them, with a thud that shook the room. Hermione raised her wand and muttered a spell, causing the rune on the door to relight and another to appear on the floor in the centre of the room. Harry walked towards it and kneeled down, Ron and Hermione behind him. He reached warily forward, glad to see that his hand was still mercifully steady, and cautiously tugged up the centremost floorboard. It peeled slowly upwards.

“Brilliant, Harry,” Ron whispered from behind him. The three of them leaned carefully in to see what was revealed: a grimy case, like that for holding a wand, only shorter and wider. But that wasn’t what really caught their attention. What did was the deathly pale, unmoving hand that the box was resting in. Harry glanced around at his two friends; Ron was white and Hermione’s eyes were wide.

“ _Inferi,”_ he mouthed, and they nodded. Ron kept his mouth tightly closed in a way that suggested he might be sick if he opened it, and Harry understood his feelings. The hand was joined to an arm which reached back under the floor where they knelt, and now Harry’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness beneath the floorboards he was fairly certain he could see other things under there: dim curves in the shadows that bore a resemblance to limbs and once, as he moved his head to see better, a chink of light from the badly-boarded-up window reflecting in a pair of dead yet open eyes.

~ 

Fred opened the second case, within which seemed to be –

“Jelly beans?” someone asked, and quiet laughter rippled across the room. George grinned, and Fred picked out a red one, popping it in his mouth. He stood back from the table and George took out his wand, pointing it at his twin.

“ _Stupefy_.” A beam of strong red light shot from George’s wand and hit Fred squarely in the chest – but nothing happened. Fred stood there, unaffected by the spell, and grinning at all the stunned faces. George turned back to the rest of the table.

“Yep. Jelly beans.”

 ~

“Fire spells at the ready, then?” Harry suggested grimly, and felt Ron and Hermione shift behind him until they were to his left and right, their wands pointing directly at the hole in the floor.

Harry gritted his teeth, and reached his left hand down between the floorboards until it was hovering above the box.

“After three,” he whispered. Hermione and Ron nodded.

“One…” Harry could feel the sweat prickling across his palm. “…two…” – he flexed his fingers, ready to grab and get away as quickly as possible – “…three…NOW!” Harry snatched the box out and leapt back as Ron and Hermione cast their fire spells. The floorboards creaked violently and then jerked up as pale hands and skull-like faces clawed their way out of the space beneath the boards.

“RUN!” Harry shouted. He turned to the door, but there were too many Inferi blocking their path.

“Harry, the window!” Harry spun around to see Ron and Hermione already at the ledge. He charged across the room, leaping over the clutching white hands, throwing fire spells at the cold bodies reaching for him. Ron was tugging at the boards on the window; Harry started to help him but they wouldn’t move.

“Move back!” Hermione called. Harry and Ron jumped backwards as Hermione pointed her wand at the window and a stream of red light punched a hole through the wood and glass.

“GO!” Harry shouted. Hermione climbed out and called back to them,

“There’s a tree out here, I should be able to –” But Ron and Harry were too busy fending off the Inferi to continue listening.

“Harry, move!” Ron hollered. Harry paused for a split second, not wanting to leave Ron there alone, but Ron shoved him towards the window and he gave in. He clambered up onto the ledge and looked out. There was a tree there, a huge, ancient yew, and Hermione was balanced carefully on one of the bigger branches.

“Hermione, catch!” She looked around as he threw the Horcrux across the gap, before jumping himself. He caught hold of the nearest branch with both hands and swung himself around until he was next to Hermione. He looked back at the window. Ron was scrambling out onto the window ledge, his wand still sending flames back into the room.

“Ron!” Hermione shouted. He looked around.

Ron pushed himself onto the ledge. He heard Hermione call his name, and couldn’t help it – he looked down. The ground seemed further away than it technically should have been; as did the tree branch.

“Come on, Ron! Just jump!”

Ron closed his eyes and launched himself out of the window.

“RON!”

~ 

Charlie recovered from his shock enough to ask,

“So what do the other colours do?” George grinned, and Fred came back to the table.

“What, not impressed, oh brother mine?” he said, trying not to laugh. George took pity on them.

“Each of the three colours has a different effect. The red ones shield the eater from minor to moderate spells, hexes and jinxes.”

“Like shield hats that you can eat,” Fred joined and the twins began to alternate their explanations.

“The orange ones will fix all bumps and bruises and give you a short-term energy burst – hopefully enough to get yourself out of danger if possible.”

“The purple is a blood replenishing potion in a compact, jelly form. Takes longer to go off, and has the same effect as an average spoonful of the potion.”

 “I think I can tell you that we’re impressed,” said Mr Weasley weakly, and several people nodded. “How long have you two been working on this?” Fred shrugged.

“Since we left school. The bracelets, anyway. The sweets weren’t too hard; it’s the same principle as prank sweets, just with different properties.”

“You’ll have to excuse me; I’m not saying that you’re not generous, but what do you get in return?” Kingsley asked. George turned to him.

“We get to prove they work; and if we’re manufacturing bigger numbers of them, we’ll need help making it secure to store them.”

“And we get to help. We’ve always wanted to be able to do something…and now we have hopefully got the ability to make a difference.” Kingsley nodded, leaning back in his chair. As with the bracelets, there were a few more questions before Professor McGonagall stood once more.

“I think that you have certainly given us much to discuss,” she said, nodding politely to the twins. “Thank you very much for coming in; we will contact you with a decision within the next week or two.” The twins nodded their thanks as the members of the Order applauded appreciatively.

~ 

Ron saw Harry and Hermione’s panicked faces get quickly further away and was about to yell when what felt like a hook caught the back of his ankle and all the movement jerked to a stop.

“Ron! Ron, are you ok?” Ron opened his eyes slowly to see that yes, he was upside-down. He moved his head back to look down and almost passed out when he saw that the unkempt lawn was only a few inches away from his face. He closed his eyes again and groaned. Suddenly there were hands on his back, helping him hit the ground slowly as the spell was countered. He groaned again.

“Ron? Ron, say something!”

“Ron, are you ok?” He nodded slowly, and pushed himself upright, feeling a burst of pain in his right knee. He swore and grabbed it. Hermione had both her hands over her mouth, and Harry was white.

“Is it broken?” Hermione asked nervously.

“I don’t think so,” said Ron. He looked at them. “Who caught me?”

“I did,” said Harry.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” The three of them sat there, unmoving for a moment of two. Harry ran a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, oblivious to the mess it was already in.

“How am I going to explain this to mum?” Ron asked, gingerly stretching his leg and wincing.

“Just tell her you fell out of a tree,” suggested Hermione.

“He didn’t fall out of the tree. He _missed_ the tree,” Harry said, and then they started to laugh. It couldn’t have been further from amusing, Harry knew this, but all the tension that had been building inside him was released as they lay back in the grass and laughed until their sides ached. Finally, they pulled themselves together, and helped Ron upright.

It took them several minutes to get into the little enclosed field that Hermione had spotted earlier that day, Ron supported under each arm by Harry and Hermione. When they reached it, Hermione pulled the box out of her pocket and the three of them sat down on the soft grass to see. The dust that had covered it had been brushed off, and they could see some sort of emblem on the lid. Hermione rubbed it with her sleeve and gasped. It was a beautifully ornate ‘R’, on which perched a raven.

“Ravenclaw’s mark,” Hermione whispered. Ron and Harry looked at her, and she cleared her throat.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting that we don’t have to whisper out here,” she said. She lifted the lid. Inside, on a cushion of pure blue velvet, lay a delicate bronze feather – no, not a feather, a _quill_. The trio just looked at it for a moment. Harry broke the silence.

“Come on.”

They stood up and raised their wands, angling them so that the tips were just touching. ‘Destruction of Destruction’ had recommended a combination of power as the best way to cast the destructive spell without having it rebound.

“Ready?” asked Harry.

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

Harry shifted his grip on his wand and nodded. The three of them spoke at once.

“ _Finio Inanis!_ ” A beam of pure white fire blasted out from their joined wand tips, focused, and then hit the quill with such force Harry was sure it would crumple – but it didn’t. The light was absorbed into the quill, and for a moment, nothing happened. Harry just had time to exchange a puzzled look with Ron before there was an explosion of dazzling white light and all three of them were thrown backwards several metres. After a minute or two of coloured spots racing across his vision, Harry risked opening his eyes again and lifted his head of the ground. Ron and Hermione were in similar situations, but Hermione was already sitting up. She stood up as Harry did, and they each took one of Ron’s arms and helped him to his feet. Hermione went over to the quill; it lay on the ground quite innocently, as though it had done nothing at all, but when she ran her wand over it she looked up.

“It’s empty,” she said. Harry grinned and felt the thrill of achievement grow inside him as Hermione carefully replaced the lid onto the box.

“We need to be more careful,” she said. “That spell took a lot of power, and most of that went straight back out again. That’s why we were thrown backwards.”

“That’s twice today,” grumbled Ron. Harry couldn’t help it; he snorted with laughter and Hermione giggled. Ron looked at them.

“What’s so funny?”

~ 

“Nice one,” Bill complimented as people began to leave. “Even if they don’t accept, they’ll be talking about that one for ages.” The twins, who had been quietly packing the cases into a small bag, looked around.

“Seriously?” Fred asked, glancing at George. Bill smiled at his younger brothers.

“Seriously.”


	6. Chapter Six

Ginny sat alone in the compartment, the door shut and locked. She had cast the spell on the door’s glass pane the way Hermione had spent days teaching her – to anyone walking past it would appear that this compartment was full, but its inhabitants unspecific.

She checked her watch – six o’clock. The train would pull in at Hogwarts in under half an hour, and it was time for Ron, Harry and Hermione to arrive. Ginny got up, went to the window and opened it, leaning out and squinting through the drizzle to see the length of the scarlet train. Every window was lit. _Perfect._ She pulled herself back in and shut the window again. Then she turned out the light, turned it on, turned it off and turned it on again, signalling to Harry which compartment she was in. Now she just had to wait.

One by one, three dark shapes swooped in to level with the train. The first waved a wand, vanishing the window, and Ginny pulled her coat over her shoulders as the wind cut through the compartment and the figures slid in. As soon as she had gotten gratefully off of her broomstick, Hermione replaced the window pane, and warmth started to seep slowly back in. She lifted her hood.

“Have you got that bag I asked you to bring?” she asked wearily, sitting down next to Harry and Ron. Ginny smiled and handed it to her.

“Nice to see you too,” she joked, before becoming more serious. “Well? Did you get the…” she left the question hanging. Harry nodded and yawned sleepily. Ginny looked between the three of them, cautiously. “Are you alright?”

Hermione and Harry nodded but Ron groaned, gesturing for the bag. Hermione passed it to him and he took out a small towel, drying his skin as he tugged up the leg of his jeans. Ginny winced when she saw that his knee was bruised and bloody.

“What happened?” she asked, looking at the three of them. Harry raised a pale face out of his arms to explain, but Ron got there first.

“I fell out of a tree.”

At this, Hermione stifled a semi-hysterical giggle, and Harry grinned at Ginny.

“What he means is he –” he began but stopped, laughing, when Ron threw the bag at him.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking and laughing, although Ginny could see that the smiles of the other three had a slightly forced quality, especially as they explained what had happened. But soon the train was pulling into Hogsmeade station and they could hear students up and down the train gathering their luggage.

Fifteen minutes after that they were sitting down at the familiar house tables. The Great Hall was as splendid as ever as Harry looked around.

There was an old man with a long grey beard sitting at the high table, talking to Professor Flitwick. He seemed strangely familiar, and as he turned back, Harry suddenly realized why.

“It’s the barman from the Hog’s Head!” someone hissed down the table, and immediately every student had a whispered opinion to add.

“What’s a _barman_ doing here?”

“If you look at the table, he’s got to be the new professor.”

“Yeah, but of what? Alcohol?”

“I’m up for it.” Dean grinned. “Firewhisky anyone?”

“He looks familiar, and I’ve never been to the Hog’s Head…”

“Yeah, right.”

“I haven’t!”

A sudden hush fell on the table as the doors swung open and the first years walked in, led by Hagrid. As they passed, Ron muttered to Harry, “He’s got to be teaching defence, I reckon. All our defence teachers are weird.” Harry smiled briefly, his attention quickly returning to the old man. When he had first seen him at the Hog’s Head he had seemed familiar, and even here there was something about him…

By now the sorting hat had finished its song and the soon-to-be-sorted students were stood in a nervous huddle before it. Hagrid unfurled a scroll of parchment and began to read aloud.

“Anders, Jeanne!” A girl with shoulder-length, mousy-brown hair who was clenching and unclenching her fists in nervousness stepped up and placed the sorting hat gingerly on her head.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Relieved, the girl went to sit at the applauding Hufflepuff table as more names were called. As “Clarke, Emma” (“RAVENCLAW!”) was being sorted, Hermione lent over and muttered to Harry and Ron.

“Doesn’t she look a bit familiar to you?”

“Digger, Sophia!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The girl was pale but smiling as she sat down next to Jade Anderson with the cheering Hufflepuffs. Harry turned back to ask Hermione who she meant, but then Ginny nudged him sharply in the ribs and whispered,

“Look, there’s Gabrielle!”

“Delacour, Gabrielle!” Ginny showed Harry her crossed fingers.

“GRYFFINDOR!” The pretty little blonde girl hopped of the stool and quickly sat down next to Ginny, who had moved along to make room for her. She was grinning widely as the table applauded. Harry looked at Hermione.

“Who?”

“The woman next to McGonagall.” Harry frowned, and looked up at the high table as “Godright, Allen” was sorted into Slytherin. Hermione was right - there was a slender woman wearing toffee-coloured robes sitting between Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout. She had long brown hair down to her waist and her face looked oddly familiar. But then she put her head to one side as the next student sat down (“Hepsworth, George!” - “GRYFFINDOR!” – Harry clapped half-heartedly) and the candlelight caught her face a different way, making Harry sure he didn’t know her.

“Moss, Agnes!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Myles, Selena!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Myth, Killian!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Rust, Ewan!” A tall boy with an expression as though he had just trodden on something unpleasant sat down on the stool.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Smiling in a superior sort of way, he joined the Slytherin table. Someone from Gryffindor booed him quietly as he sat down. Looking around the hall, Harry could see that the Slytherin table was easily the fullest – and even they had a few people missing, notably Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Gryffindor table was next, and then Ravenclaw. But Hufflepuff looked as though half the students were absent, and Harry wondered what had made those who were returning do so.

“Sedges, Samantha!”

“GRYFFINDOR!” Harry clapped with the rest of his table as a nervous girl with dark brown hair joined them. He continued looking around at the students; he could see that everyone who had been in the DA the year before last had returned, and the majority of the older students. That was good; at least those who were there would know how to defend themselves, if it came to it. Hopefully.

“Tristain, Rufus!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

Harry shook his head to clear the dark thoughts from it. The last girl to be sorted had short blonde hair that matched that of one of the second year Ravenclaw boys, and Harry wondered vaguely if they were related. Hagrid called out her name.

“Warren, Edgar!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

As she sat down next to the older boy, Harry saw them link hands under the table. But then Professor McGonagall rose, and all the noise in the hall faded quickly away. She surveyed the students as she spoke.

“Welcome, first years. And welcome back to all of our more familiar students. As most of you will know, I have been appointed as the new Headmistress, and as such, I will no longer be teaching transfiguration.”

No one commented at this; it had been expected. Professor McGonagall continued.

“Therefore, this year we have three staff announcements. Firstly, I would like you to welcome Professor Tonks to the position of transfiguration Professor.” Harry’s mouth dropped open. He glanced at Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who were all mirroring his expression as they clapped. The woman in question nodded her head to the applause politely. She looked nothing like Tonks – but then, Harry realised with a sudden feeling of stupidity, Tonks was a metamorphmagus; she wouldn’t have to. But if she was here under a different face, why had she kept the same name? Professor McGonagall was speaking again.

“Secondly, the position of Head of Gryffindor house, in respect of our previous Headmaster’s wishes, goes to Professor Rubeus Hagrid.” Harry, caught by surprise, nevertheless applauded as loudly as the red-faced Hagrid grinned broadly from his seat at the High Table. Professor McGonagall waited for the applause to die down before continuing.

“All of you, other than our new first years, will remember our previous Headmaster: Professor Albus Dumbledore. And for some of you, adapting to life here at Hogwarts without him will be strange. But yet we will continue to strive for the excellent standards that make us one of the most exceptional schools in the magical community. And with this in mind, may I welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor – Professor Aberforth Dumbledore.”

The entire hall went utterly silent. If Harry had thought he had been shocked at seeing Tonks, it was nothing on how he felt now. The other professors on the table began to clap and, slowly, the rest of the school joined in. Harry couldn’t believe it – and by the expressions on the faces of everyone else around him, they couldn’t either. The old man who had acknowledged the claps was the right age to be a cousin, or a brother, but Professor Dumbledore didn’t have a brother…or did he? Harry felt suddenly uncomfortable as he realised that he had never known anything about the Headmaster’s personal life, despite the Professor knowing almost every detail of Harry’s. Professor Dumbledore had never spoken of a family, and Harry had assumed that he was as alone as Harry was. Harry searched his memory. In all their talks, had the Headmaster ever mentioned…yes! Now that he thought about it, Harry could remember his voice, comforting Hagrid after Rita Skeeter had revealed his being a half-giant.

_“My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery…”_  Harry almost snorted with laughter. He didn’t sound like teaching material. But Ron was looking at him strangely as the food appeared on the table, so he mouthed “later” to him and began to help himself to Yorkshire puddings.

The feast finished more quickly than Harry would have thought possible, and before long Professor McGonagall was rising once more. She waited until they were all quiet, and then spoke.

“And after that excellent feast, I have several more announcements. Firstly, for those who do not know, day visits to the village of Hogsmeade are normally open to those in third year or above. However, this year, there will be no such trips.” The new third years were sharing angry glances, but most of the older students nodded in acceptance. The staff or the governors had obviously decided the danger was too great.

“Also, I am very sorry to have to announce that, this year, there will be no Quidditch tournament.”  This time, the entire student body burst into complaint. Most people looked appalled, and Harry was with them. Quidditch was the one thing that kept the school together – however competitive it might be, Quidditch was something to think about that wasn’t schoolwork or the latest tragedy. How could McGonagall even _consider_ –

“The board of governors has decided that it is only under these conditions that the school could be reopened. I know you will all be as horrified as I am by this decision. The tournament keeps our houses together, and our morale high.” Professor McGonagall looked as though she was holding back considerable anger. “However, we must not let this disappointment trouble us, or dampen our spirits. This school, as I mentioned before, is the greatest place for magical education in the world – and we will not let that reputation fall because of recent events.” She took a breath, calmer now. “May I also remind our new sixth years that, due to their being postponed last summer, their OWL’s will begin the day after tomorrow. I trust you have all been using the summer to revise.” Harry glanced up the table and saw Ginny’s friends looking grim, but Ginny whispered to him,

“It’s alright, she told us in our letters. We get the results almost immediately, and then start NEWT classes.” He nodded, feeling a jolt of guilt that he had never considered asking Ginny about her exams.

“Think you know what you’re doing?” he asked. Ginny gave a half-nod, half-shrug, and turned back to look at the High Table.

“Seventh year students who have not already passed their apparation tests should sign up on the house notice-boards. That is all. Good night.”

They left the hall quickly, and soon they were trudging up the steps and along the familiar corridors towards the Gryffindor tower. Ron nudged him, speaking in an undertone.

“What were you grinning at before the feast?” he asked. Hermione heard and whispered something to Ginny, and the four of them fell behind the other students to talk more privately. Harry quickly explained what he had remembered, and Ginny giggled.

“Inappropriate charms on a goat? A bit worrying, that one,” she said. Ron snorted.

“That’s what I thought,” said Harry. Hermione looked confused.

“But if he’s Dumbledore’s brother, then why would he work in the Hog’s Head?” Harry turned to her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that magical abilities normally run in the blood! He could be doing anything, he could really help Dumbledore in the war, but he’s running a pub with a bit of a – well – _dodgy_ reputation in Hogsmeade. Why?” she asked. Ron grinned.

“Maybe that’s where he keeps the goats.”

Harry and Ginny burst out laughing.

“Ron!” said Hermione. “That isn’t funny.” But she was struggling not to laugh herself.

“If you think about it,” Ginny said as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, “it makes sense. I mean, lots of people use the Hog’s Head as a place to meet and talk about stuff. We used it for the DA the year before last.”

“And that’s where Professor Trelawney made the prophecy about me and Voldemort,” Harry realised, lowering his voice.

“And I bet loads of other stuff happens there – and he’d be in just the right place to know, wouldn’t he!” Ron agreed. They stepped through the portrait hole and let it swing shut behind them.

“Well, we’ll see.”

Hermione wished the boys good night as she and Ginny walked away from them towards the girl’s dormitories and Harry and Ron trudged up the stairs to the boy’s. A short time later, Harry was lying in his familiar four-poster, his eyes still open. Maybe it was because of the journey back from Little Hangleton, which had left him with a sore back, or maybe it was the little angry prickles that kept flaring up in his scar, but he couldn’t seem to relax. He tried to think about something else; he wondered again why Tonks would be teaching at Hogwarts. But his thoughts kept drifting away from Tonks and onto the one thing he had been refusing to think about since the night on the astronomy tower – Snape. An image of the scowling, greasy-haired potions master appeared in Harry’s mind.

_“Blocked again, and again, and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!”_  A surge of anger, fresh and harsh, burst through Harry and he rolled over onto his side, clenching his fists. He, Harry, had been talking about Snape for years and no-one had listened – no, that wasn’t true, Harry realised. Professor Dumbledore had listened. But he had always dismissed Harry’s concerns, explaining away some things and keeping his reasons to himself others, but always trusting, always knowing that Harry would always have no choice but to hope his Professor was right. But he had been wrong.

Harry pushed these thoughts away. He, Ron and Hermione knew what they had to do. That was all that mattered now.

He could hear Ron and Neville’s snores in the otherwise silent dormitory, and had a sudden, unconnected burst of longing. If only he could be as oblivious to the world as they were now.

~ 

The next morning, Harry was sitting at the breakfast table listening to Ron and Dean argue about the unfairness of cancelling the Quidditch tournament, when he heard someone call his name.

“Potter!” Harry turned. Professor McGonagall was walking towards him. “Could I have a word outside?” He nodded, stood, and walked with her to the Entrance Hall where she stopped and turned to him. “I wanted to know what you would think about reinstating Dumbledore’s Army,” she said frankly. Harry stared at her for a moment before realising what she was talking about.

“I think it would be a great morale booster, not to mention the advantages of having students who won’t panic so much if there is an attack,” she continued. Harry frowned, thinking. It was true that most of the students who had been in the DA were still at Hogwarts – except, of course, the students who had been in their sixth or seventh years when the DA was formed. Harry wasn’t sure if they’d all want to start it up again, though, and said as much.

“But I’ll ask.” Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, satisfied, and then her face softened slightly.

“How are you?” Harry gave her a brief, grim smile and she seemed to understand. “Very well, Mr Potter. Perhaps you should return to the table – I believe Professor Hagrid should be giving out time-tables.” Harry nodded and returned to see that Ron and Dean were looking up and down the hall for him.

“Where were you, mate?” Ron asked. Harry lowered his voice and explained. When he had finished, Dean shook his head.

“I think she’s right Harry, it’s a good idea, but I don’t know if many people will want to – I do,” he said hastily, seeing Harry’s expression, “but it’s like putting yourself up as a target, isn’t it, if there is an attack?” Harry was saved answering him as Hagrid reached them and handed them their time-tables.

“Well done, Hagrid!” Ron said, grinning. Hagrid went slightly red behind his beard.

“Ta. Can barely believe it meself.” He moved on, and Harry looked at his time-table for today’s lessons: Transfiguration, double Defence Against the Dark Arts, a free period and double Charms. _Could be worse…_ Harry thought to himself.

“Come on,” he said to Ron. “We’ll pass the message around, about the DA – we can get together tonight, before all the sixth years do their OWL’s.”

“Eight o’clock in the Room of Requirement?” he asked, and Harry nodded as they made their way to the transfiguration classroom. They were glad to see that Hermione had already sat down and saved them seats near the front. When they sat down either side of her, she pointed at the blackboard. On it were the words, ‘Professor Andromeda Tonks’.

“Andromeda?” Ron asked. “Definitely not the Tonks we know, then.”

“They’re probably related, though,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I mean, it can’t be a very common name, can it?” Harry just shrugged as the Professor herself entered the room carrying a stack of books, which she placed on the desk. She stood at the front of the room without speaking, and waited for them to quiet.

“Welcome to transfiguration, seventh-years. My name, as you can see, is Professor Andromeda Tonks,” she said with a small smile, gesturing to the board.

“But that doesn’t tell you much about me. So, just for your information, I have worked as an under-mage for the International Union of Spellcrafters for eight years, specialising in transfiguration. I am also,” her hair changed to bright green before returning to normal, “a metamorphmagus.” Many students in the class exchanged interested or excited looks as she continued. “Every child in this school has been told to address me as ‘Professor Tonks’. However, you are not children anymore. You are all of-age, intelligent young witches and wizards, and deserve to be treated as such.” She smiled again, and tapped her wand sharply on the board. The words ‘Professor Andromeda Tonks’ disappeared, and were replaced by ‘Andy/Tonks’. Professor Tonks turned back to the class.

“I’m not going to turn all Dolores Umbridge on you and say I want to be your friend,” – several people giggled – “but I am willing to treat you with the same respect as I expect you to show me. You’re in for a tough year; I want to make it as fun and easy for you as possible. So,” she finished with a grin, “could you all get out a piece of parchment and a quill, and I’ll quiz you on what you already know, to see what you’re struggling with.” The class groaned good-naturedly as they reached into their bags. They spent the rest of the lesson completing and marking the quiz, which briefly covered almost everything they had ever learnt, from first year to sixth. They left the class talking and joking.

As Harry and Ron explained to Hermione what Professor McGonagall had said, they walked up the staircase to get to their next class: Defence Against the Dark Arts. When they entered, most of the class was already there. They took seats and waited. Harry looked around.  Unlike several of its previous incarnations, the classroom was relatively plain. The Professor’s desk was uncluttered and, like in transfiguration, the name ‘Professor Aberforth Dumbledore’ was written in a strangely jagged script on the board. However, Professor Dumbledore didn’t appear to be present, and Harry spotted a few people looking at their watches. He checked his own. Fifteen minutes had gone since the start of the lesson. Most people were sitting around, chatting happily or finishing homework from other classes. The door to the corridor was open, and a few people near the door were glancing out every so often, checking that there were not any teachers patrolling to catch them effectively skiving a lesson. He turned back to Ron and Hermione.

“Where d’you think –”

But he was interrupted by Dean Thomas, who called loudly across the classroom,

“Now this is the kind of NEWT I could do – a test in doing nothing!” Everyone laughed, until suddenly a voice was heard; and it didn’t belong to a student.

“No doubt you could, Thomas.”

Several people screamed. Ron jumped backwards, causing his chair to hit the desk behind him with a bang. Harry was reminded of Professor Moody’s first class. Standing in front of the blackboard, as though he had always been there, was their new defence professor. The whole room went utterly silent as he surveyed them, taking in every face. Then, without moving, he spoke again.

“Brown – close the door. Everyone else, in your places.” Lavender quickly obeyed as the rest of the class sat down without speaking. After another moment of watching them, Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands once.

“Right. Now, can anyone tell me how long I’ve been here?” Everyone looked around at each other; no one seemed to know. Then, cautiously, Seamus Finnegan raised his hand. Professor Dumbledore looked at him.

“Finnegan?”

“I think you’ve been here since the bell rang, sir.” Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

“And why do you think that?”

“Just our luck, sir?” Seamus said. The whole class held its breath – this was the moment that would show them exactly what kind of a teacher they would have for the next year.

There was a pause, and then the man’s face lit up with a grin that reminded Harry of Fred and George watching the effects of a new prank. Professor Dumbledore nodded his head at Seamus in amusement.

“A smart alec, but correct. Can anyone truthfully say that they knew I was there?” Most of the class shook their heads.

“Right. Now, you’ll probably want to know what you’ll be doing, so I can start by telling you that by Christmas I’ll have a hard time catching any of you lot out with something like that.” He looked around. “I have received from Professors Lupin, Moody, and Umbridge a basic list of all you have studied previously. You’ve covered magical creatures and dangerous curses, along with quickly learning how to defend yourself from politics.” There was a ripple of laughter, and Professor Dumbledore gave a wry grin. “This year, you’re going to combine that knowledge, and learn how to use it day-to-day.”

“Including the politics, sir?” called Dean. There was another ripple of laughter, and the Professor nodded.

“That especially. Now, we’ll start with the basic methods of camouflage – can anyone give me an example?”

After class, Harry, Ron and Hermione set out to spread the time and place of the meeting to all those concerned, and by the end of charms he was confidant that everyone would be there.

~ 

At about a quarter to eight they made their way to the Room of Requirement. The first to arrive was Lavender Brown, looking more nervous than usual on her own. She eyed Hermione cautiously as she came and sat next to them. Next were Colin and Dennis Creevey, then the Patil twins. Slowly, the room filled up. Finally, at eight o’clock, Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones were the last to join the chattering crowd, holding hands shyly.

“Right,” Harry began, clearing his throat, “welcome back.” He looked around the room. Including himself, Ron and Hermione, there were twenty-two people; everyone still young enough to be at Hogwarts had come back, and Gabrielle Delacour was smiling as she sat between Lavender Brown and Dennis Creevey.

“We’ve lost a few people, but Ginny,” he nodded at her, “has talked to Fred and George, and they’re going to try and organise everyone who left – they’ll be having meetings to keep in touch every other week, and we might be able to meet up in the holidays.” Several people nodded, and Ernie MacMillan raised a hand. Harry nodded to him.

“Me and Hannah were wondering,” he said, “not that there’s any problem with just having a smaller group, but should we let more people in now?” He turned to the group at large. “I mean, it’s not like anyone’s denying that He’s back anymore, and I know a few people who would be more than ready to join.” Terry Boot spoke up from the back of the room.

“Maybe, but we’ve got a decent Defence Professor now; this is more for extra practice than anything else, and the others can do that anytime they like.” There was a hubbub of discussion at this while everyone gave their opinions, before Gabrielle spoke up, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“I know I wasn’t here the last time,” she said, her French accent noticeably fainter than her sister’s, “but wasn’t everyone picked because they could be trusted to do the right thing even if it wasn’t what everybody else was doing?” The students seemed to agree, and Hermione finally made her opinion heard.

“I think Gabrielle is right, but we should vote on it. Who thinks we should let more people into the group?” Several people raised their hands; Ernie, Harry noticed, seemed to have changed his mind. Hermione counted them quickly, and then continued, “And who thinks we shouldn’t?” There were many more hands raised for this, but Hermione counted them even so. “We’re not letting anyone in, then.”

“Hang on, Hermione – what about Gabrielle?” Everyone turned and looked at Ginny, who had spoken.

“Well, we’re saying we won’t let anyone new in, but Gabrielle’s already here – no offence, Gabrielle,” she apologised. Gabrielle shook her head in acceptance as there was a pause for thought.

“It’s hardly fair to turf her out; and anyway, she’s here now. And didn’t you say she’s related to you, Ginny?” This was from Luna, who had been quiet so far. There were several nods, and Harry spoke up.

“Does anyone have a problem with Gabrielle joining us?” No one spoke, and a few shook their heads. “Right, that’s okay then.” Harry was relieved that no one had raised a complaint; he wasn’t sure what else could be said in Gabrielle’s defence.

“Shall we get started, then?”

They had a productive meeting, going over most of the basic things they had done two years before, and the Creevey brothers seemed to take great delight in coaching Gabrielle, the youngest, through ‘Expelliarmus’.

They stopped after not long before curfew, and collapsed on the cushions on one side of the room. Lavender, to Harry’s surprise, did not join in the gossiping, but sat on the edge of the group with Dean and Seamus, keeping herself to herself. He wondered if this had anything to do with her and Ron’s break up last year – could she still be sore about it?

The conversation moved onto this year’s prefects.

“Yeah, who’s head boy and girl this year?” asked Anthony Goldstein. There was a sort of generalised shrug; no one seemed to know. Then Neville raised his hand sheepishly and Lavender gave a small wave. Harry was surprised, but tried not to let it show.

“Cool,” he said. “Well done Neville! And Lavender,” he added hastily, realising that he had inadvertently missed her out. Neville was looking quite pleased with himself as he was congratulated, but Lavender looked a little embarrassed.

“Well, it would have been Hermione,” she said. “It should have been. I said so to Professor McGonagall. But she just said that you –” she spoke directly to Hermione “- were doing some extra-curricular studies this year and would have been too busy to be Head Girl as well. Harry stomped on Ron’s foot as he opened his mouth to disagree, while Hermione nodded. _Someone must’ve told McGonagall about us three leaving in the summer._ It made sense – after all, she was a member of Order, she’d have heard about the ‘breach of security’. The conversation continued, slowly turning to families.

“Hey, that’s a point – Seamus, how comes your mum let you come back? Didn’t she say she wouldn’t let you?” Colin Creevey piped up.  Harry started with realisation; he’d become so accustomed to seeing his dorm mates every year he had forgotten that Seamus had only been allowed to stay for Dumbledore’s funeral after a furious shouting match with his mother in the entrance hall.

Seamus shrugged.

“I told her I was going whether she liked it or not, and when she said that I wasn’t I walked out. I stayed ‘round Dean’s for a couple of days before she gave in.” He spoke casually, but there was a quiet tension in the way he didn’t look at anyone directly. Harry was glad when Neville changed the subject quickly.

It wasn’t long before someone mentioned the time, and people left in twos and threes as if Umbridge was still hanging around. Harry was strangely tired, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

~ 

Time passed quickly, in a flurry of meetings and increasing levels of homework. Harry never thought he would be glad of not having Quidditch practice, but to be truthful he didn’t know how he would have managed the workload with regular weekly practises as well.

On the evening of the thirty-first of October Ron met Harry and Hermione in the library, and once she had finished ‘tidying up’ her Charms essay they headed down to the Halloween feast.

On their way across the Entrance Hall, Professor Tonks called out to him.

“Potter, could you go up to the Headmistress’s office – there’s someone there who wants to talk with you.” Harry nodded and left Ron and Hermione to go without him, somewhat gloomily, wondering if it would be Scrimgeour trying to persuade him to become the ministry’s pet again. As he passed her, Professor Tonks muttered, “The password’s ‘Bumblebee’.” He didn’t notice that behind him, Ginny smiled softly and began to explain something to Ron and Hermione. When he reached the gargoyle that guarded the door to the Headmistress’s office, he gave the password and entered. Looking around, he realised with a small pang of loss that it had changed; the delicate silver instruments no longer puffed and whirred in their places but had been replaced by Professor McGonagall’s belongings. On the wall, in its golden frame, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore slept quietly. Harry wondered if it had awoken at any point since he had last seen it.

“Hello, Harry.” Harry jumped. Remus Lupin was standing to one side of the Headmistress’s desk. Harry had been so distracted by the changes in the office he hadn’t noticed him.

“Hello Professor.” Lupin smiled.

“Remus, please. We’ve known each other long enough.” Harry nodded, unsure whether he could get used to this, before asking,

“Profess-Remus, why are you here?”

“Ginny said you had been planning to visit Godric’s Hollow. I knew you hadn’t been before, and I wondered – I go there myself on Halloween, to visit…” he trailed off questioningly. Harry was surprised. He had told Ginny about his plans, but had supposed she hadn’t thought any more of it. He had, of course, but…he realised Remus was still waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I’d like to go – I mean, if I can,” he said. Remus nodded.

“I already checked with Professor McGonagall. She says it’s ok, as long as you’re back before curfew.” He gestured towards the fireplace. “By floo?” he asked. Harry nodded again, trying to block out all the thoughts that were buzzing around his head. Taking a fistful of Floo powder, he followed Remus into the flames, wondering what he would find on the other side.


	7. Chapter Seven

Harry stepped out of the emerald flames into a small, dusty room with no windows. Remus gestured towards the door.

“After you.”  Harry walked through the door and followed a narrow corridor until he reached another door, which led out into an alleyway.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“It’s a little pub that caters for the witches and wizards here – or it used to. Times were there were more of us here than the Muggles, but these days…” Remus trailed off as they reached the end of the alleyway and stepped out into the light of the setting sun.

They were walking along a row of pleasant, detached houses, all with a slightly different style, none exactly the same. There was an old church spire rising behind the rooftops. Harry could feel the weight of his school bag cutting into his shoulder, and wished he had thought to leave it the Headmistress’s office. He had been in the library working on an essay and hadn’t had the chance to leave it in the common room. He could feel the books inside it bouncing painfully off of his leg every time he took a step and shifted the bag around so that they were cushioned by his Invisibility Cloak.

They turned a corner into another street, and there was an immediate difference. Most of the houses along here were for sale, or bore the ‘sold’ sign but were still empty. A few looked as though they had remained untouched for years. Harry looked at Remus questioningly.

“People don’t like to stay here long. They say it makes for a bad atmosphere, living near that.” He gestured up the street to where the houses were set back further from the road. Harry couldn’t see quite what he was pointing at, but he could guess. As they got nearer, he knew he must be right. There, between the houses with the oldest ‘for sale’ signs, was what must have once been a pretty little house and garden. Now one whole side of it was wrecked and blackened, blown apart, Harry supposed, by the back-firing killing curse.

They passed through the rickety wooden gate into the front garden. Harry let his legs fold beneath him until he was sitting cross-legged on the icy ground, and stared up at the house which could have been his home. He barely noticed Remus joining him on the ground. In his mind’s eye he saw Lily and James Potter as they were in his photograph album, standing in the doorway of their new house, waving at the camera, Lily already bearing the noticeable bump that would become their son several months later.

The time passed, second by second, minute by minute. After a while, Harry tore his eyes away from the broken home, and stood up. Remus rose too and led the way out of the garden, back down the road and along another alleyway. The church spire Harry had seen in the distance drew closer. Soon, they reached the church itself, and the graveyard behind it.

In the far left corner of the graveyard were two white marble tombstones which read:

_James Potter, born 27 th March 1960, died 31st October 1981_

_Lily Potter, born 30 th January 1960, died 31st October 1981_

_“To sleep, perchance to dream.”_

 

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Your mother used to love Shakespeare,” Remus said quietly. “She spent months trying to convince James before he gave in and read _Hamlet_. This was her favourite quote.”

Harry smiled, and reread the words, trying to fix them in his mind so that he would not have to leave them behind when he returned to Hogwarts. As with the house, he did not take his eyes away for a long time, and as the darkness grew deeper Harry felt rather than saw the tears hit the cold ground. Eventually, he nodded, not wanting to speak, and Remus walked with him back the way they had came.

~

They arrived back at Hogwarts just before curfew. Harry said a hurried goodbye and thank you to Remus before returning to the common room. It was busy, full of talking, laughing students, but Harry bypassed them all, scanning every face, looking for Ginny. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she had already gone to bed?

He turned around, planning to ask one of her dorm mates, and saw Ron and Hermione move towards him, looking serious.

“Harry, have you seen Ginny?” Ron asked. Harry looked from one to the other.

“No,” he said, frowning. “I’ve been with Remus. Why?”

Ron’s forehead creased slightly as he registered the use of their old professor’s first name, but Hermione just ignored it and bit her lip.

“So she didn’t go off with you, then?” she said. Harry shook his head.

“Why?” he repeated. “Wasn’t she at the feast with you two?” As he spoke, his stomach growled, and he realised that he hadn’t eaten.

“She said she had to go and get something from the tower, and then she didn’t come  back,” Hermione said.

Ron looked at his watch.

“It’s a quarter past nine,” he said. “The feast started at seven.”

“So she’s been missing for a couple of hours, maximum,” Hermione continued. “We’ve asked all her dorm mates, and all of her friends – no one’s seen her since before the feast. I think we should look on the map for her.” She paused, her expression awkward. “Do you think I’m over-reacting?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, already reaching into his bag for the Marauder’s Map and moving towards a less public corner of the common room. “But it’s worth being careful – just in case.” Privately, Harry had been itching for an excuse to check the map since he had first been unable to find her.

Harry activated the map, and the three of them peered at it, searching for Ginny’s name in the seemingly endless corridors and classrooms.

After a minute Harry spotted her little dot on the fourth floor, in what Hermione confirmed was the girl’s bathroom.

“Maybe she’s not feeling very well,” said Hermione, “and she –” Ron interrupted her. He pointed silently to three dots on the map labelled _Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle_ and _Draco Malfoy._ They were moving quickly down the stairs from the fourth floor. Harry felt his stomach clench. _Not Ginny…_

“They’re heading for the tunnel to Honeydukes,” said Harry. He took a deep breath. “Right. We can’t do this on our own…” Harry turned to look at the rest of the common room.

“Dumbledore’s Army,” he called quietly.

Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati and the Creevey brothers came over as the rest of the house stared curiously. Harry explained the situation under his breath.

“Ron, Dean, Seamus and Lavender, you go down to the third floor, see if you can’t catch them up. But if they go into the tunnel, don’t follow – there could be more of them.”

Ron nodded, and turned to go, but Harry caught his arm.

“Take the map with you.” Ron took it, and the four of them left.

“Colin, Neville – you two go and wake up Professor McGonagall.” They left.

“Hermione, Parvati and Dennis, come with me and we’ll find Ginny.” Harry led the way out of the portrait hole and down the stairs. He could hear the footsteps of the others echoing down the corridors, and immediately wished he’d kept the map himself.

They walked for a few minutes, using several of the lesser-known short-cuts, before they came to the fourth-floor corridor. Harry stopped just outside the bathroom door.

“After you,” he said. Hermione and Parvati entered, and after a pause – Hermione gasped – Harry and Dennis followed. When he saw her, Harry’s stomach turned over. Ginny was lying unconscious on the floor in the corner, badly bruised, her arm at an unnatural angle beside her. Harry was by her side so quickly he didn’t even register getting there. He put his hand gently on her neck, checking her pulse. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t wake. He barely registered Hermione kneeling next to him and touching his shoulder.

“Ginny? Ginny, can you hear me?” he whispered to her. She didn’t respond.

“Harry, we need to get Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione spoke quietly. She sounded scared and when Harry looked around at her, he saw that her face was white. “I’ll go with Parvati,” she continued, “will you and Dennis be alright here on your own?” Harry nodded, and heard her leave quickly, muttering instructions to Dennis on her way out, but he didn’t take his eyes away from Ginny. She was normally so vibrant, so full of life … Harry’s anger began to boil when he thought of what must have happened. _I’ll find you, Malfoy,_ he thought.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there with her before the sound of footsteps returned.

“Through here,” someone called. Harry looked around in time to see the door swing open again and then Professor McGonagall came in, followed by Ron, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey. Ron’s face turned as white when he saw Ginny, and he joined Harry at her side, but was soon ushered out of the way of Madam Pomfrey. Hermione, Harry noticed, slipped her hand into Ron’s, who seemed temporarily distracted from everything else as his eyes widened in surprise. Harry looked down at Ginny, almost expecting her to open her eyes and wink mischievously to show that she had noticed, too. But she lay, almost unmoving, completely unaware. Harry slipped his hand into hers.

It wasn’t until Ginny had been in the Hospital Wing for some time and Professor McGonagall demanded that Harry get some sleep before dawn that he left her side.

~ 

Ginny felt the bright light piercing her eyes before she had even properly awoken. She screwed up her face against the intrusion, but as she reached to pull the blanket over her head her arm flared with a sudden pain and she gasped. She felt someone gently manoeuvring her back under the covers, and opened her eyes. She smiled. A certain boy whose green eyes were worn with tiredness and whose tousled black hair was even scruffier than normal was trying to gently move her aching arm back under the covers without hurting her. He was so sleepy that he hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. Ginny cleared her throat.

“Good morning, Mr Potter,” was what she had meant to say, but it came out as a coughing fit. Harry handed her the glass of water on the side table. He waited silently as she drank, but the concern in his eyes told her exactly what he was going to say next. She got there first.

“Harry, you look shattered. You should get some sleep –”

But her sentence died at his expression.

“Are you alright, Gin?” She nodded, smiling at him softly and fighting a wince at the pain as he relaxed back into the chair.

“What happened?”

 

 

“Could you tell us what happened please?”

Ginny took a deep breath in. Why did she have to repeat this a hundred or so times? She’d already told Harry, and then Ron and Hermione when they had visited, and then her dorm-mates when Madam Pomfrey had finally let them in the Hospital Wing… and now Professor McGonagall and some members of the Order. Harry, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand lightly. Ginny breathed out.

“Just before the feast, I realised that I’d left something in the tower. I told Ron and Hermione, and went to get it. I was on my way back when I heard a noise from down the corridor. It sounded like someone was crying. I thought they might need some help, so I went around to see who it was. And then – Malfoy was there, with Crabbe and Goyle…” Harry was staring at the floor as she spoke, his eyes almost unblinking. Ginny was startled by the amount of anger she could see in them. She had seen him angry before, several times in her fourth and fifth years. But not absolutely livid, not like this, not so furious he could barely move. A polite cough jerked back to reality, and she reminded herself that there were other people in the room, people waiting to hear what she had to say. She cleared her throat again, nervously.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to bring her mind back to the three Slytherins and away from those furious green eyes.

“Not to worry, Miss Weasley. In your own time.”

~ 

Ginny’s words echoed in Harry’s head as he walked through the almost completely deserted corridors. It was nearly nine o’clock. Ginny had, and Madam Pomfrey’s insistence, rested in the hospital wing for most of the day before seeing Professor McGonagall in the evening. It being a Sunday, Harry had spent the entire day with her, only leaving her side briefly at lunch time.

As he reached the seventh floor corridor, he felt the anger reach its peak, boiling in his clenched fists and pooling bitterly in the pit of his stomach. In his mind’s eye, he saw Crabbe and Goyle pushing Ginny against the wall while Malfoy taunted her. He saw Malfoy grab her arm as she tried to run, and twist it hard. He saw them hitting out, again and again, flesh against flesh until she collapsed to the floor. He pushed the images from his thoughts, but the anger still stormed within him, fighting for an excuse to hunt Malfoy down and tear him limb from limb. He reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and was about to give the password when the door opened from the inside and Hermione stepped through.

“Harry!” she said. “I just came out to look for you. The password’s changed to _firebird_ , I wasn’t sure if you knew.” Harry nodded.

“McGonagall said.” He made his way into and across the common room and sat down next to Ron. Hermione followed him.

“How’s Ginny?” Ron asked. Harry nodded, then shrugged.

“About the same. Madam Pomfrey’s keeping her overnight again, but she’ll be back in lessons tomorrow.”

Ron nodded. After a moment, Hermione sat forwards in her chair, her expression eager and her voice so low that Ron and Harry had to lean forwards to hear what she was saying.

“I think we should go to Durmstrang.”

Harry and Ron exchanged sceptical looks.

“Why?” asked Ron, and Harry knew he was thinking of Krum.

“Because of this,” Hermione said, taking a book out of her bag and opening it on her lap.

“It talks about the castle, and apparently the Headmaster lives in an entirely separate wing, only connected to the others by a single narrow passageway.”

“You think Voldemort hid a Horcrux in Durmstrang Castle?” Ron asked.

“No,” realised Harry, “You think Karkaroff did, don’t you?” Hermione nodded.

“Durmstrang, though? How are we supposed to get there? We don’t even know exactly where it is!” Ron said. Hermione blushed.

“Well, I just got a letter from Viktor, and –” Ron scowled and slouched back in his chair. Hermione ignored him.

“- and he said that I’m welcome to visit him any time. I thought we could get him to help us.” She looked uneasily at Harry. “I know we can’t tell him much, but we could think of some excuse…”

Harry wasn’t sure. He had got on well enough with the Durmstrang champion during the tournament, but he wasn’t entirely sure how many questions would be asked, or how easily they could lie to him. Unless they took him into the entire thing? Harry dismissed the possibility as soon as it arrived. Dumbledore had asked him to tell no one but Ron and Hermione.

_But I told Ginny_ …

That was different.

_Was it?_

Yes.

_Why?_

Because I lo-

“Harry?”

Harry shook the thoughts away, hoping he hadn’t gone red. Hermione and Ron were both looking at him.

“We’d have to have a good excuse,” he said. Judging by Ron and Hermione’s expressions, he had missed a portion of their conversation.

“Yeah. But if we have a good enough one, then we get a free tour of the castle and grounds, right?” said Ron. “Or d’you think he’ll want to follow us around the whole time?” Harry looked at his best friend. A shadow of a scowl still remained on his face, but he had pushed it away to better focus on the situation. Harry wondered how Ron would cope if they did have to spend a large amount of time with Krum – and, looking at Hermione, resolved to try to keep them apart as much as possible. He didn’t need another war breaking out just as they were on the way to ending this one.


	8. Chapter Eight

Ginny was not having a good week. When she had left the hospital wing and returned to lessons she had spent the entire day dodging questions about how she had got hurt, but no one seemed to take the hint that she didn’t want to talk about it. She had had so much homework to catch up with that she had hardly seen Harry; and then Romilda Vane had stuck up a picture of Harry from the Daily Prophet in the girl’s dormitory with a note attached saying “All mine – R.V.”. Ginny had not been pleased. She took it down, but it was replaced the next day, so she edited the note to say “Already taken – G.W.”. She’d been getting titters and dirty looks from Romilda and her friends since. She glared angrily upwards at nothing in particular. Truth be told, she was more than a bit annoyed with Harry. Not that he’d done anything wrong, exactly – it was just a little tough to deal with his popularity sometimes. _Mind you,_ she thought wryly, _it’s not like he ever seems to really notice it._

Ginny yawned and stretched, her hands brushing against the curtains that surrounded her bed in the girl’s dormitory. As she did she noticed a plain parchment envelope lying upside-down at the end of the bed. She frowned, turned it over and upon seeing that it was addressed to her, opened it.

_Ginny,_

_I hope this letter doesn’t reach you too late; Hermione said she would give it to you in your dorm, but she wasn’t really paying attention to me so I’m not entirely sure…_

_All the same, I have an apology to make. Ron, Hermione and I should have told you what was going on, but you’ve been so busy we’ve barely seen you._

_We need you to cover for us this weekend. You know enough to guess what we’re doing; if you drop in early enough tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you a bit more. I don’t dare write it down, just in case._

_I wish you could come with us; on the other hand, I’ll be incredibly glad if you stay here. I love you to pieces, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning; 4ish in the common room._

_Harry_

_P.S You’re much prettier, nicer, and more beautiful than any other girl I know. Ignore Romilda and co, they annoy me too. Love, Harry._

Ginny bit her lip to keep herself from giggling, pleasantly surprised by the postscript, and then sighed, looking at the time. Gone ten o’clock. They’d have gone already, then. She pushed herself out of bed and began to get dressed, wondering just how long she could keep up this staying-behind lark before it drove her crazy.

~ 

Hermione was right. It was freezing cold to fly this high. Harry shivered and leaned closer to his broom, as if that would help. He and Ron had passed their apparation tests a few weeks ago, but it was too risky to apparate this far. They had apparated to the coastline and flew from there. Eventually, Durmstrang Castle loomed into view. It was smaller than Hogwarts, Harry noted, or was it merely dwarfed by the immense landscape around it?

They circled the castle twice before they found the Quidditch Pitch, where a small figure in a brown cloak was waiting. As they landed, Harry couldn’t help noticing how stiffly Ron dismounted, nor how Hermione’s eyes flickered between Ron and the figure in brown – Krum, of course.

They made their way up the narrow steps, Krum casually turning his head this way and that. When they reached the inside, the stone corridors were cool, and very quiet, but now and then they could hear voices from some far-off classroom.

It took them a few minutes, but they reached the door to the Headmaster’s chambers without any interruptions. When they had stopped outside the door, Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking to Krum.

“We should go on our own from here,” he said softly. Krum didn’t look surprised, rather resigned, but he did shift uncomfortably before asking,

“Harry; could I haff a vord?”

Harry’s memory jumped back to the first time Krum had asked him this, after they had been told about the third task.

“In private?” Krum looked uncertainly at Harry, and Harry nodded. He heard Ron give a quiet noise of annoyance, but ignored him. The two former champions walked a little way away, just enough to be out of earshot.

“What is it?” Harry asked, glancing back at the door. “Something about Karkaroff?”

Krum gave a soft, humourless laugh.

“No. I… perhaps should not be disturbing you with this now. You haff… other things on your mind.” He paused, looking at Ron and Hermione; Ron slouching against the wall grumpily, Hermione staring a little too intensely at the ground.

“What is it?” asked Harry a little impatiently.

“She writes about the two of you,” Krum said. “I know you and her are not… but I also know how to read what she thinks she does not tell me.” He glanced at the other two again, and then back at Harry, seriously.

“Hermione cares about him very much, I think. Different to you,” he said even more quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, as surprised as the first time at the direction the conversation had taken. “But why would you… I mean…”

“I care about Hermione also; you vill look after her? It is, of course, her decision, and I know she has already decided.” He gave a sad smile. “But make sure they… he…” He seemed to run out of words, frowning. But Harry didn’t need him to finish.

“I told you before, she’s like my sister,” he said. “Ron’ll figure it out soon. But yeah,” he met Krum’s eyes, “yeah, I’ll look after her.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They stood there, a little awkwardly, for another moment, and then Harry gave Krum a nod and returned to Ron and Hermione as the other champion walked away, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridor.

“What was all that about?” Ron asked, a little sharply. Harry shrugged.

“Nothing. Right, let’s get this over with.” He drew his wand and put his hand on the door handle. Ron and Hermione raised their wands ready, and after a second’s pause, Harry opened the door and stepped through.

~ 

“Has anyone seen Harry and Ron?”

Ginny looked up from where she was working in the Gryffindor common room to see Neville at the bottom of the boys’ staircase, looking confused.

“They’re around somewhere,” she answered. “Hermione’s going mad over their N.E.W.T. revision already – she’s holed up in some dark corner of the library – and I think they’re hiding from her.” This got a few laughs – most of the Gryffindors knew that Hermione nagged her best friends more than she did anyone else when it came to schoolwork. Ginny waited for a minute to make sure that everyone was satisfied with her answer; it might have been only Neville who asked, but it wasn’t easy for the Boy-Who-Lived to disappear without people noticing. Seeing that everyone was engrossed in their own conversations, she went back to work.

~ 

Ron, Hermione and Harry arrived back on the Sunday, the day that it had started to snow. They had returned to the castle more or less unnoticed – Harry suspected that Professor McGonagall knew they had been gone, but as a member of the Order of the Phoenix she undoubtedly knew about them leaving Grimmauld Place in the summer already and had been expecting something similar. Now they were sitting in the otherwise empty boys’ dormitory with Ginny, recounting their adventure.

“ – And it was completely pitch black, couldn’t see a thing; even wand lights didn’t show much. We spent ages looking, but no luck,” Ron finished.

“So there wasn’t one there?” Ginny asked. Harry shook his head, looking tired and frustrated.

“We knew it was a long shot,” Hermione said comfortingly, “it’s a good thing that we checked, though – just in case.”

“We can’t afford to waste time looking everywhere,” Harry said. “Every day is riskier, there’s always a chance that he’ll find out –”

_“-what Potter is doing, my lord, but Hogwarts is too well protected for us to penetrate, and we have no spies inside.” A hooded figure with a blank, white mask stood in a dark, curtained room. The same room, Harry realised with a jerk, that Rookwood had been questioned by Voldemort in._

_“Dumbledore may have been a muggle-loving fool,” Harry said, his voice cracked and sibilant and horribly familiar, “but he was not stupid. He will have left instructions for Potter. I need to know what they are.”_

“Harry? Harry focus on us, now, Harry?” Hermione sounded nervous, uncertain. Harry felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy, mate,” he said. “You alright?”

Harry opened his eyes slowly; he couldn’t remember shutting them. He was still in the Gryffindor boys’ dorm, but the others were closer. Ginny was holding his hand. Part of his mind hoped, fairly childishly, that Ron hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ginny glanced at Ron and Hermione, and then back to Harry.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

Harry didn’t want to describe it; instead he answered with, “we don’t have much time. Sooner or later he’s going to find out what we’re doing – and then we’ll have no time at all.”

“We will, Harry,” said Hermione. Ron nodded.

“We’d better,” said Harry. There was a silence.

“How was your journey back?” Ginny asked, trying to change the subject.

“Cold!” Ron complained.

“I said you should have used a warming charm.”

“I did, it just wasn’t enough.”

“Well, then you should’ve let me do it.”

Ron rolled his eyes and Harry laughed. At least Ron and Hermione bickering was normal. But how long would it last?

“You didn’t fly the whole way, though,” Ginny said.

“No, we apparated from here to the coast –”

“Hi Neville.”

Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked around to see that Harry was right; Neville was standing in the doorway, the door having just swung from ajar to open. No one spoke for a moment; Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other uncertainly. How much had Neville heard?

Neville seemed to know what they were thinking. He picked his way across the messy floor to his cupboard, rummaging inside it for whatever it was he had come to fetch. When he turned around to the four of them still watching him, he gave a faint smile.

“Don’t you think I learnt in first year that you lot only break the rules for a good reason?” he said lightly. He walked back the door, and then paused.

“I won’t say anything,” he said, meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry replied; the others nodded and Neville smiled.

“Oh, and by the way, whatever you’re doing – good luck.”

They heard him pad down the stairs in his bare feet back to the busy common room, and carried on their conversation as though they had not been interrupted. But somehow, there was a little more warmth in the room than before.

~ 

Christmas holidays at Grimmauld Place. Harry spent most of his time trying not to think about the last time he had spent Christmas here, Sirius singing carols and putting Father Christmas hats on the stuffed House-Elf heads. But it was difficult; every part of the house was a reminder.

Eventually, on the morning of Christmas Eve, Harry ended up sitting in the drawing room where he and Sirius had discussed the Black family tree.

Harry rubbed his forehead out of habit, wincing as his scar sparked with a sharp pain. It had been hurting on and off all day. Frustrated, he lent back in the chair and stared in irritation at the tapestry. From here, he could clearly see the tiny burn marks where various Blacks had been blasted from it. He could just imagine the woman in the portrait downstairs scrutinising it carefully, picking her spot and – what would she use? Some inaudible but venomous mutter that would send furious green sparks spurting out of the end of her wand, obliterating the name from the tree and from existence. He allowed his eyes to wander over the names, unavoidably drawn to Sirius’s scorched place on the tree, remembering that day in Grimmauld Place, over two years ago now.

_“My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home…”_

Next to the charred place where Sirius’ name had been was his brother Regulus’. Harry remembered the story Sirius had told him of the younger brother, the better son, who joined the Death Eaters and got cold feet…Regulus Black…Regulus Black…

Realisation dawned in Harry’s mind slowly, a bit at a time. _Regulus Black…RAB…_ could it be? He had been a Death Eater, after all, and he had tried to duck out… _I know I will be dead long before you read this…_

“Dinner!” called Molly Weasley from the kitchen, but Harry wasn’t listening. He got to his feet and raced up the stairs to his and Ron’s room, his mind still putting the pieces together. _Regulus Black…_ Regulus something Black. Alphard? Arcturus? Both were names on the family tree, people he could have been named for – after all, there were repeated names across the whole tapestry, it could have been traditional. He paused outside the door to his and Ron’s room, still thinking, before a strange noise interrupted his thoughts. He frowned, puzzled, and leant carefully around the door, which was ajar. There, in the middle of the room, were Ron and Hermione. His eyes widened as he saw that they were so closely intertwined that there wasn’t space to slip a piece of parchment. Entirely distracted from RAB and Regulus Black and biting hard on his bottom lip to keep from laughing, he tip-toed away walked downstairs to the kitchen, just as Charlie said,

“ – never known Ron to be late when there’s food around.”

“Oh, there you are, Harry!” Mrs Weasley looked mildly harassed. “Could you be a dear and run upstairs to get Ron and Hermione? They don’t seem to be answering me.”

Harry swallowed back several suggestions to explain his friends’ absence before nodding and turning to the door. However, Ron and Hermione had apparently managed to prise themselves apart, and entered the kitchen – Hermione looked pleasantly flushed and Ron seemed to be trying to pretend he wasn’t pleased with himself. When Mrs Weasley’s back was turned, Harry gave Ron a thumbs-up, and Ron’s eyes widened before he grinned sheepishly.

Christmas day was wonderful; the happiest day Harry had had in a long time. But that didn’t do anything for the undercurrent of tension that ran constantly through his mind. _We don’t have time for this. We don’t have time for this. We shouldn’t be here._ He ignored it as best as he could while Ron challenged him to chess, Hermione blushed when Ron’s hand touched her own accidentally, and Ginny sat next to him by the fire. But still it was there.

Boxing day. Spent lying around and eating leftovers and throwing balled up wrapping paper at each other. _We don’t have time for this. We can’t stop here. We don’t have time for this._

A day passed, and then another. Harry couldn’t settle. He kept fidgeting, moving from room to room, pacing when he was alone. He knew they had to move on, but he couldn’t see how. They had no idea where to move to.

He talked about R.A.B. to Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They agreed; it had to be Sirius’ brother. But when they had broken into his old bedroom while the others were busy downstairs, they had found only a tidy, dusty room, probably untouched since its owner was a student at Hogwarts. They had searched, and found nothing.

Harry wracked his brain to try and think of something, anything that would give them something to go on, somewhere to look – but he could only go over, uselessly, the list in his mind. _The locket, lost; the cup, hidden; the snake, protected. The locket, lost; the cup, hidden; the snake, protected._

With every hour of every day that passed, Harry became more and more convinced: this task that he had been set was impossible. And impossible tasks were doomed to failure.

~ 

It was late evening on the day before New Year’s Eve when something finally happened. But it wasn’t the something that Harry had been hoping for.

Mr Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Fred and George were out at their various jobs. Ron and Ginny were playing chess on the rug in front of the sofa; Hermione was talking about something intellectual (Harry had tuned it out) with Kingsley and Tonks, and Mrs Weasley and Lupin were discussing plans for the following night. Harry was gazing into the fire sleepily, the flickering shapes enough entertainment for a tired mind. Suddenly something silvery and long-limbed leapt out of the fire. It was a patronus – a silver monkey. It spoke with the voice of one of the Weasley twins.

“Death Eaters surrounding the shop – we need help, come quickly!”

There was a pause in which horror rose in Harry’s throat like bile, and then everyone was moving. Lupin took charge.

“Molly, Ginny – get hold of the others and get them there. Everyone else, wands out, let’s go.”

Harry heard Ginny start to argue but knew she would not succeed. Following Lupin with his wand out and ready, ignoring Hermione’s “but Harry, you should stay here too”, Harry stepped into the flames.


	9. Chapter Nine

The green flames of floo travel made Harry’s head spin; he fought to stay relatively steady, knowing that when he came out of the other end he’d need to be on his feet.

The journey was over quickly; and Harry landed on his feet just behind Remus, wand drawn and ready.

The shop was a wreck. Spell and curses shot across the room, bouncing off shelves, colliding with various products and creating random explosions. Harry thought he saw a red-haired figure dart through the growing smokiness and started towards it; but then there was a _bang_ louder than the others and the door burst open. Hooded figures in black rushed in, three, four, five, six, more – two at the front fell down almost immediately and Harry realised that he had sent out a stunning spell without even thinking. The other stunner had come from Hermione on his left. She tugged on his arm.

“Come on, get under cover,” she called, dragging him behind a row of shelves just before a volley of curses reached their previous position. Harry leant out and cast stunning spells in return before ducking behind the shelving again.

“Harry, you’ve got to be careful – they’re just wrecking the place now, but if they find out _you’re_ here – Harry, where are you -?”

Harry had seen a body drop to the floor the other side of the shop, and had darted out and around the counter before Hermione had realised what he was doing. The dust from the destruction was thick in the air, and had settled in a film all over his face and hair, but all the same he kept his face turned away from the Death Eaters in the doorway, now fighting Remus and Kingsley. Hermione was right. He was making this more dangerous just by being here; if any of them realised that The Chosen One had come to fight they could and probably would summon more help.

Harry reached the figure on the floor, and saw that it was a woman with short blond hair – Verity, her name was, one of Fred and George’s assistants. Harry grabbed her arms and dragged her back behind the counter, and then put a hand a little hesitantly to her neck to check for a pulse. He couldn’t find it, but she seemed to be breathing – he made a mental note to ask Hermione to teach him how to check someone’s pulse later, and leant out from behind the counter to fire off more stunning spells.

Suddenly, there was a clattering noise from the fireplace and Arthur, Bill, Fleur and Charlie all came charging out of it, wands raised. The Death Eaters, seven of them, were now fighting in the middle of the shop, but it was clear that they hadn’t expected this much resistance, and were backing away a little. The twins, Ron and Hermione came out to fight properly just as Harry did; they had the Death Eaters backing into the doorway, before a shriek from a cloaked figure on the floor wrenched through the noise.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“GEORGE!”

One of the largest shelves hit the floor with an almighty crash, flames spiralling upwards from it. Harry was blinking and coughing, fighting to see what had happened. He realised a few seconds later that the Death Eaters had disapparated; the figures moving through the dust and smoke were no longer duelling.

“A-ag-aguamenti,” Harry heard Hermione cough from a few feet to his left. He turned to see her pouring water from her wand onto the flames, which slowly became ashes.

“George? George? George, can you hear me?” Fred’s voice was panicked, with an edge of hysteria, as the smoke began to clear. Harry moved forward, desperate to know…

“Move, out of the way!”

Charlie.

“Bill, go and find Pomfrey. Dad, help me get this off him.”

Harry could see better now; and he was not glad of it. Beneath the fallen shelves, an arm was splayed out. Fred was kneeling over it, white-faced. Charlie’s voice was steady, but his expression was no calmer.

“Dad! What’s going on?”

Harry turned, and saw Ginny had just arrived through the fireplace.

“Is everyone alright?” she asked, before she saw what had happened. She didn’t have much time to react, though, because Bill was already moving. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away.

“Ginny, come on, we have to go and get help. Let’s go.”

His voice was rough with fear, but she followed him back into the flames. Harry turned back to see Mr Weasley and Charlie carefully levitating the shelves off of George who lay, unmoving, on the floor. Harry could see Hermione reach for Ron’s hand in the corner of his eye. Lupin was kneeling over George next to Fred, checking his pulse. Tonks came towards Harry.

“You three should go,” she said. “The ministry will be all over here soon, Harry, and none of you can help any more now.” She turned to Ron. “You’ll know as soon anyone does,” she said.

Ron barely reacted, white beneath his freckles, still staring over at his older brothers. Hermione took his hand, and Harry took the other arm, and they made their way back through the floo.

~ 

It was half an hour that they waited in the kitchen in Grimmauld Place with Ginny; a far shorter time than they had waited for news of Ron’s father, over two years ago, Harry knew – but somehow it seemed the same, as though they had always been sat there, unable to move until some kind of news reached them. Finally, Arthur and Charlie stumbled wearily through the fireplace, looking exhausted.

“He’ll be alright,” Charlie said before collapsing in a chair. Ron embraced Hermione and Ginny turned into Harry’s arms wordlessly. Harry held her, smelling the smoke from the explosions still in her hair, as her small form shook gently with the relief.

“You’re okay; you’re okay; it’s going to be fine…” he murmured quietly into her ear. They stayed like that for a long while, before everyone parted and retreated to their respective beds in exhausted silence.

~ 

The next few days were quiet again. Fred was eventually convinced to leave his twin’s side and come home for something to eat, but seemed determined to be optimistic about the shop.

“We’ve lost a lot of stock,” he said to Harry over their chicken, “including all of the stuff we showed the order. Some rat of a Death Eater was poking there nose in the back, looking for it – we had to destroy it before it got into the wrong hands.” He shrugged.

After the meal, he caught Harry for a moment in the hall.

“I know you and Ron and Hermione,” he said quietly, “are going to leave again soon. You’ll have to.”

Harry did not answer; he had been thinking exactly the same thing. Fred nodded to himself.

“Me and George were working on a variation of the bracelets; we kept them aside, in here instead of the shop.”

He took a case out of his pocket.

“There’s one for each of the three of you, and Ginny; me and George already have our own. If you press your thumb to the back it’ll send a pulse to the others, and we can come and help you out.”

Harry took the case from him and slipped it into his own jacket, his expression grateful.

“Thanks,” he said. Fred nodded again.

“Good luck, Harry,” he said, before returning to St Mungo’s through the kitchen fire.

A little later, in the privacy of his and Ron’s room, Harry opened the little black case. It contained four silvery necklaces, each bearing a pendant the size and shape of a fingerprint. Each one was labelled with a name, and as Harry turned them towards the light he could see that each pendant was marked with a symbol: Hermione’s had a wand, Ron’s a sword, Ginny’s some kind of circular, swirling symbol and Harry’s a slender bolt of lightning.

He showed the others later. Hermione was impressed, Ron and Ginny too; but none of them felt the urge to be excited about them. On the contrary, the mood was very serious.

“You three are leaving, aren’t you?” Ginny said quietly in the dim light. Harry glanced to the others, and then back at her. She was playing with a lock of her hair and looking absent-mindedly out of the window. He nodded.

“We have to,” he said. “The longer we stay, waiting around, the riskier it’ll be.”

“But what about the other Horcruxes?” Ginny asked. “You don’t know where they are.”

Harry saw Ron and Hermione glance at each other in the corner of his eye. He rubbed the back of his neck, hating the quiet, hating the dark, hating the choices to be made. But making them nonetheless.

“We need to stay on the move,” he said softly. “We’ll have to find them as we go. Ginny, I know that you –”

Words failed him, especially with Ron in the room who was suddenly looking slightly more alert. Ginny turned, and gave Harry a wry smile.

“Yes, I know. Go on.” There was no bitterness in her expression at all, only patience and a little worry. “Go save the world.”

~ 

They stayed in old muggle hotels for a while, on Harry’s money, writing fake names on the register and paying in cash. The nights were long and the days were longer still, spent wandering aimlessly on country roads and sitting in the dark corners of quiet pubs. They kept away from big cities; too much risk of being recognised. Harry’s scar seemed to ache constantly, and sometimes he would have to stop as they walked or sit up suddenly in bed, part of his mind somewhere else, the images bloody and painful. After a while, they stopped speaking to each other.

Not everything was dark; Harry got used to walking a little faster than Ron and Hermione so that they could lag a little behind him and hold hands. He did not like to walk behind them when they did so, though, thoughts of Ginny back at Hogwarts flooding his mind.

Harry had worn his necklace since the day he had received it. It hung, cool and unnoticeable, the chain just long enough to not be clearly visible but not so long that it was not in easy reach. He ran it between his fingers, often without even realising it. The world seemed to have slowed to a standstill.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Harry looked up at Ron’s voice. They were sitting on a fence that ran alongside the country road they had been walking, eating slightly dry sandwiches.

“Which is?” Harry asked, surprised. Ron shifted position slightly, crumbs from the sandwich-wrapping falling to the ground.

“We should start practicing – duelling,” he said. “All three of us.”

Hermione swallowed the piece of sandwich she was eating, her expression thoughtful.

“Ron’s got a point, Harry,” she said. “We’ve not got any new leads yet; until we do, we should keep in practice. And maybe actually having something to do will help us think.”

~ 

They started the next time they found somewhere quiet – on this occasion a clearing about fifteen minutes walk from the road. They decided that one person should keep watch while the other two duelled; Hermione volunteered to watch first. Harry knew that she was edgy, worried about being caught; but he did not see how they could be, and told her so. She just gave him an absent-minded nod in return, her eyes scanning the clearing as she cast monitoring charms.

Ron and Harry practiced against each other first, then Hermione and Ron, then Harry and Hermione. It became a regular pattern every day – travelling in the early morning, getting something to eat at midday, and then spending the afternoons duelling before returning to civilisation for a bed that night. Harry began to notice certain things about each of their duelling styles: Ron was very much the tactician, working out the pattern of the duel with attack and counterspell as though he was playing chess, which was thrown off by responding irrationally; Hermione relied on her more complex knowledge of magic to fight but struggled to deal with the speed of the fight; Harry himself fought mostly by instinct, trusting his nerves and relying on his speed to pull him through when nothing else did. He discussed this with the two of them one night and they were still talking in the early morning about how to improve. Weeks passed.

One sunnier afternoon, Harry had just managed to beat Ron when he finally vocalised thought that had been bothering him.

“What if one of the Horcruxes is at Hogwarts?” he said. Ron, who was bent over breathing heavily, looked up at him.

“Wouldn’t Dumbledore’ve found it, though?” he asked. Harry frowned, thinking, as Hermione made her way over to better hear their conversation.

“He probably would’ve – but he didn’t really have time, did he?” he responded quietly. “He might have even assumed that Voldemort could never have hidden one there.”

“So why do you think that he did?” Hermione asked curiously. Ron sat down on the ground, still getting his breath back. Harry and Hermione joined him on the grass.

Harry tried to find a way of explaining what he felt to be true, right.

“It’s like… Voldemort hides them in places that are protected or important or useful,” he said. “Like the two in Little Hangleton, and the locket in the cave. Hogwarts is well-protected, there are hundreds of places in there that he could have hidden it – and if he’s planning to take over, it’s somewhere no one would suspect.”

The other two thought about this for a minute. Harry tried not to let it show on his face that he hadn’t told them quite everything, but he could not help but wonder if this was part of why Dumbledore had left this task to him – a boy who had so much in common with Tom Riddle, who would be able to see how he thought…

“But where in Hogwarts?” Hermione asked. “You’re right, Harry – there are _hundreds_ of places that he could have hidden it.”

“The Hufflepuff common room.”

Harry and Hermione turned to look at Ron in surprise and confusion. He gave half a smile.

“Well, if Harry’s right and there’s one in Hogwarts, we know it has to be the cup, right? The snake’s with him and the locket’s wherever Regulus Black hid it.”

The other two nodded.

“You think he hid it in the Hufflepuff common room, though? Wouldn’t he be more likely to hide it in the Slytherin one?” Hermione asked, but Harry had already caught up with Ron’s train of thought.

“If a Slytherin found something really valuable in their common room – well, I don’t know about all of them, but someone like Malfoy or Crabbe or Goyle would probably keep it for their own. Sell it, or show it off. That’s risky,” he said. “But if one of the Hufflepuffs found an heirloom of their own house hidden in their common room, they’d probably look after it even more – it’d be even more well-protected.”

Ron nodded. Hermione did not look convinced.

“If we’re going to look in Hogwarts, I think we should check both,” she said firmly. “Which means not only are we going to have to be able to return to Hogwarts without notice, but we’ll need to get in to two common rooms that we don’t have the password for.”

“Hufflepuff shouldn’t be too hard,” Harry said. “I’m sure Ernie and the others will let us in.”

“What about Slytherin, though?” Ron asked. “I don’t think we’ve got much of a chance of pulling off the same trick twice.”

The others fell into silence, thinking. Harry’s mind flicked to their second year, feeling conspicuous as Goyle standing in the Slytherin common room… and then, oddly, to Malfoy’s white, terrified face at the top of the astronomy tower… Harry had felt almost sympathetic to him after that, if he hadn’t attacked Ginny…

And then it clicked.

“I know how we’ll get in,” Harry said quietly, already putting ideas together in his mind.

“How?” Hermione asked.

Harry gave the other two a grim smile.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said.


	10. Chapter Ten

Silence had claimed the Wiltshire manor like a vice since Lucius’s return from Azkaban. Lucius was down in his study, starting on his third Firewhisky of the day; Narcissa was out speaking to old friends and maintaining their position as well as she could. Draco Malfoy sat alone in his room, flicking dully through an old copy of _Which Broomstick?_ without interest.

Four rooms down in a large, elegantly furnished guest bedroom, there was a quiet _crack_. Harry, Ron and Hermione released their grip on Dobby’s hands.

“It’s the fourth door down?” Harry whispered. The elf nodded.

“Okay; let’s go.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione slipped out of the doorway and moved down the corridor as quietly as possible. They approached the fourth door which was ajar; the word ‘Draco’ was carved neatly into the wood. Harry pushed it open a little way, his wand raised. Malfoy was standing with his back to them, looking out of the window; Harry aimed carefully.

“ _Stupefy_.”

~

Draco groaned and started to open his eyes muzzily. He had just enough time to vaguely register the hard ground beneath his face before a whispered spell sent him swiftly back to unconsciousness.

~

“Right,” Harry said quietly. The three Gryffindors were stood with the unconscious Malfoy behind the large mirror on the fourth floor. They had entered Hogwarts through the Honeydukes tunnel, and used the invisibility cloak and Marauder’s Map to make their way, unseen, through the almost silent castle.

“Ron, you stay here and guard Malfoy,” Harry continued, his voice low. “Me and Hermione will go to meet Ernie. Make sure he’s not awake long enough to guess what’s going on – if the Horcrux is in the Hufflepuff common room we won’t need him and we can just drop him back where we found him.”

Ron nodded. Harry handed him the Marauder’s Map.

“Good luck,” Ron murmured as Harry pulled the invisibility cloak over Hermione and himself and pulled the mirror open. There was a quiet thud as it closed behind them.

~

Ernie Macmillan was on his way to the library with a few books to return, when he heard his name.

“Ernie!”

He turned, squinting a little. It was dim in the castle corridors after the bright sunlight outside. He saw Harry, beckoning to him from under the stairwell, and looked around warily before joining him.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” he asked worriedly. “Haven’t you heard –”

“We don’t have long, Ernie,” Harry cut in. Whatever Ernie was worried about, it would have to wait. “We need to ask you a favour.”

Ernie nodded.

“What do you need?” he asked. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other.

“We need to get into the Hufflepuff common room.”

Ernie looked surprised, but after a moment he nodded again.

“I can let you in,” he said. “Everyone who’s stayed here for Easter’s outside in the sun, and the others aren’t due back on the train for a few more hours, we should be alright. But Harry –”

“Let’s go.”

Perhaps it was the tension in Harry’s voice, but Ernie was silent as he led the invisible Harry and Hermione up a flight of stairs, around a corner that appeared at first glance to be a dead end, and then down a spiral staircase with stone steps worn smooth by busy feet. Harry felt that they had reached ground level again when they stopped; although the stairwell twisted on down, and there was no sign of a door or entrance.

Ernie turned to them.

“You’ll need to take off the cloak,” he said. “You won’t be able to get through, otherwise.”

Harry and Hermione pulled the cloak off of themselves and Harry took it, slinging it over one shoulder to keep it within easy reach.

“There won’t be anyone in,” Ernie reassured them. “There are less of us here than any other house, and I’m sure everyone’s outside in the sun. Anyone coming back to the common room would’ve passed us.”

Harry nodded.

“Good,” he said. “How do we get in?”

As far as he and Hermione could see, they were standing half-way down a steep staircase. Hermione’s hand was firmly planted on the wall and Harry knew why; he wouldn’t want to trip and fall either. Ernie gave a smile with a hint of uncharacteristic pride in it before turning to address the stairwell.

“Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff, accompanying two Gryffindor friends: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.”

And with that he took a step forward – and stood, seemingly on thin air.

“Come on.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry was the first to move. Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Harry stepped into the open space above the steps. Hermione followed, her eyes firmly shut. She only opened them when Harry nudged her, looking around. They were still in the stairwell but the steps below them had disappeared, replaced by a stone floor in front of a large, wooden door.

Ernie opened the door and led them inside.

The Hufflepuff common room was a large, comfortable space with warm, buttery yellow walls. Wide, tall windows looked out onto the lawns, which Harry thought was strange; he’d never noticed those windows from the outside. Ernie saw him looking.

“They’re not visible from the outside,” he said. “Helga Hufflepuff believed that if they were, this wouldn’t be the refuge it was supposed to be.” He shrugged.

Large leather sofas and round wooden tables were scattered around the room, and two fireplaces clearly made the room very warm, though they were not currently lit. Hermione walked to the centre of the room and raised her hands; Harry spoke to Ernie.

“We’re just looking for something,” he said. “It’s either hidden here, or in the Slytherin common room.”

Ernie nodded.

“Harry, while Hermione’s looking, I need to talk to you; it’s been in the Prophet and everything –”

“Ernie, whatever it is it can –”

“They’re looking for you!” The words burst out of Ernie desperately. “You’ve been all over the Prophet, You-Know-Who’s offered a reward to anyone who can bring you to him alive, or Ron or Hermione. He’s saying if they’re the one to capture you, he’ll promise them and their family safety from Death Eater attacks. The Ministry’s threatened anyone taking part but it won’t do any good. They’re calling you a dead man walking.”

Ernie stopped, out of breath. Beside Harry, Hermione had stopped her spell-casting. He turned to her, his thoughts in a whirl.

“Anything?” he asked. She shook her head. Harry turned back to Ernie.

“Thanks for letting us know, Ernie,” he said, not knowing what else he could offer. “But there’s nothing we can do – we’ve still got to do this.”

Harry’s final words were as much to Hermione as to Ernie; he could see her frightened expression.

Ernie nodded resignedly.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said, sighing. “So it’s not here? What you’re looking for, I mean.”

Hermione shook her head.

“It doesn’t look like it,” she replied. “Sorry Ernie. Thanks for letting us in.”

Ernie shrugged.

“No problem.”

He led the way back out of the bright common room and up the winding staircase.

“By the way, where’s Ron?” he asked as Harry threw the cloak over Hermione and himself.

“Ron’s keeping an eye on something for us,” came Harry’s voice from thin air.

~

Ron stood up and raised his wand as the mirror swung open.

“It’s alright, Ron, it’s just us,” Hermione whispered as she pulled the mirror closed behind them. Ron relaxed.

“How’s Malfoy?” Harry asked. Ron threw a glance over to the corner where the unconscious Slytherin lay.

“Same old. He woke up again but I stunned him before he had time to think about it.”

Harry nodded, thinking ahead. They didn’t have a lot of time.

“Wake him up,” he said, drawing his wand and training it on Malfoy. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and then Hermione knelt down beside the unconscious Slytherin. Ron back away to stand next to Harry, his wand drawn. Hermione’s wand was held over Malfoy’s chest.

“ _Ennervate,”_ she murmured, moving back quickly when she had cast the spell to train her wand on Malfoy too.

~

Malfoy groaned quietly against the stone as he awoke. His head throbbing, he pushed himself upright – and focused on the three wand tips pointing at him. His eyes widened, and he froze for a moment before realising who was holding them.

“Potter, are you completely –”

Ron took a sudden step forward.

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“… out of your mind?” Malfoy finished deliberately, raising his eyebrows, his grey eyes glittering mockingly at Ron before focusing back on Harry. Harry considered the Slytherin for a moment, before sliding his wand away and offering a wary hand to pull Malfoy to his feet.

“Potter, can anyone hear us in here?” Malfoy asked quietly. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Malfoy, if you’re just –”

Malfoy didn’t let him finish.

“Potter. Can. Anyone. Hear –”

“No, alright? What is it?”

“You’ve no idea what you’ve done.” Harry rolled his eyes and started to turn away, but felt Malfoy’s hand grasp his shoulder and pull him back so that they met eyes. He saw Ron and Hermione raise their wands in his peripheral version.

“What’ve I done, Malfoy?” Harry asked, more out of annoyance than interest. “And why should I care?”

Malfoy may have been at wandpoint, but he still took the time to roll his eyes before answering.

“Do you think the Manor isn’t guarded?” he asked. “However you got in, they will have detected you – and if they haven’t captured you already, it’s because they want to see what you want me for.”

“And why would you care what Voldemort and his cronies are going to do to us?” Harry responded, privately pleased when Malfoy flinched at the name. “You were happy to do his bidding earlier in the year.”

Malfoy released his grip on Harry’s shoulder, his expression becoming wary, and there was a little fear in his voice when he replied.

“Like I could choose to do otherwise,” he said bitterly. He and Harry were still staring at each other; Draco was the first to break the gaze, looking away at the space that the four of them were in. No one spoke for a few minutes.

“What do you want me for, anyway?” Malfoy eventually asked, feigning disinterest. Harry gave him a grim smile.

“You’re going to take us to the Slytherin common room, let us in, and show us around. It’s the last day of the Easter holidays, it should be quiet.”

~

They made their way hurriedly down the hallways, taking every shortcut that Harry knew. They had decided not to use the cloak or the map, keeping Malfoy from knowing about them unless absolutely necessary. Instead, they relied on the quiet of the hallways to warn them of anyone approaching.

When they reached the corridor and the stretch of wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room, they slowed to a stop. Running through the next part of the plan, Harry came to a sudden realisation. His heart sinking, he turned to look at Malfoy. The Slytherin looked resigned, almost bored. But he was twisting the fingers and thumb of one hand nervously. Had he realised, as Harry had, that there was one obvious flaw in the plan?

Harry swallowed. If Malfoy was going to pretend confidence, then so would Harry.

“What’s the password?” Harry said quietly. But he knew that Malfoy would not be able to answer; how could he? He hadn’t attended Hogwarts for nearly a year. Internally, Harry cursed himself for not thinking of this. He had been so pleased to break the monotony of wandering the countryside that he hadn’t bothered to think it through.

But Malfoy stepped forward, placing a hand on the wall.

“I, as an honourable member of the noble house of Slytherin, beg entry,” he said quietly. The wall slid to one side. Harry stared.

“But I thought you lot had a password that changed regularly?” Ron said, voicing Harry’s thoughts. Malfoy snorted.

“At least you have the sense not to share everything you know with your two little lapdogs,” he shot at Harry, walking through the entrance. The three Gryffindors followed him, Harry not daring to meet Ron or Hermione’s eyes.

The Slytherin common room was as empty as the Hufflepuffs’. The green lamps burnt coolly in their globes and the whole room was something of a respite from the blazing sunshine outside.

“I don’t suppose you’re planning on telling me why we’re in here?”

“You’re lucky we don’t get rid of you now we are.”

“Oh, Weasley, I’m so scared. My knees are knocking in horror. You’re not going to do anything to me –”

“After what you did to Ginny, you bastard, you’d deserve every –”

“Ron.”

Hermione did not raise her voice as she spoke, just met Ron’s eyes. Ron went quiet, but continued to glower in Malfoy’s direction.

Harry looked around the room, his wand out.

“Hermione, could you…” he asked. Hermione nodded, and began her spellwork. The other three were silent as she gestured and muttered for a minute or so.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Ron scowled.

Harry waited.

And then Hermione was finished.

“Anything, Hermione?” Harry asked. His head was aching, but the pain didn’t seem to be focussed in his scar, so he tried to ignore it. Hermione nodded.

“There, above the fireplace,” she said quietly. Malfoy was looking at them curiously, and Ron spotted his expression.

“What do we do about Malfoy?” he asked.

Harry watched the Slytherin for a few seconds. Malfoy looked nervous, despite his earlier assertion; he was definitely more afraid of Harry than he had been of Ron.

Harry thought of Ginny, lying out cold in the bathroom; but then he thought of Draco’s face on the astronomy tower. He made a decision.

“Your choice,” he said to the Slytherin. “Either we knock you out now, or we wipe your memory later.”

Malfoy stared at him, something strange – gratitude? – in his expression for a moment, and then swallowed.

“I’m not having you messing with my head,” he said, almost his usual self. “Knock me out.”

Harry nodded, and raised his wand. He thought he saw Draco force himself to relax for a second.

“ _Stupefy_.”

Draco Malfoy collapsed onto the floor. Harry turned back to Hermione.

“You said above the fireplace?”

~

“Hey Ernie!”

“Hi, Ern!”

Ernie smiled as Hannah and Justin greeted him, but it was slightly forced.

“Hey,” he said, collapsing onto the grass.

“Did you get much studying done, Ernie?” Susan asked. Ernie shook his head.

“Too nice a day,” he replied. “And Pince kept peering down at me like I was about to mutilate her precious books.”

The other three Hufflepuffs lying on the grass all tittered a little.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ernie?” Hannah asked quietly. Ernie gave her more genuine smile.

“Just stressed from studying,” he said. “What time is the Express getting in?”

“Half-past four,” Justin said. “Thought we’d go down and meet Zacharias and the others.”

“And Neville, of course,” giggled Hannah, nudging Susan, who had turned pink at the Gryffindor’s name and was now studiously ignoring them all.

“Has he actually managed to ask her out yet?” Ernie asked curiously, feeling his good humour return as Susan went even redder.

~

Above the fireplace was an ornate carving of the Slytherin house crest; the hissing silver serpent on a deep green backdrop. Harry ran his hand along the bottom of it, the only part he could reach; perhaps he was imagining it, the stone seemed to be vibrating slightly. As he took his hand away, his scar began throbbing gently. He swallowed and forced himself to ignore it.

“How do we open it, d’you think?” Ron asked quietly. Hermione looked frustrated.

“The only indication I could get is there’s some kind of key, or password. But I don’t know what it would be.”

Harry was still staring at the carving. In the light of the green lamps, the serpent seemed to glow with all too much life.

“ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four_ ,” he said quietly, the parseltongue flowing without a thought. He heard Ron jump slightly behind him.

“Bloody hell, Harry. A warning’d be nice.”

Harry ignored him. He was sure that using parseltongue was right; it was just the pass _word_ that was wrong. But what would it be?

_Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle… the heir of Salazar Slytherin… the last of the Slytherin line…_

Harry tried variations on these phrases over and over, switching around the words, the hissed syllables slipping through his lips like water. Hermione and Ron watched in silence.

“ _Horcrux… immortal… immortality… Hufflepuff’s cup…_ ” Harry, his hand against the stone again, felt the stone shudder at the name of the founder. He leant forward.

“Harry?”

Hermione’s voice was irrelevant. Harry tried more variations.

“ _Hufflepuff. Helga Hufflepuff. Helga. Helga’s cup… Hepzibah Smith… Hufflepuff’s horcux?”_ Harry frowned. None of these were right, but he had to be close. Something Tom Riddle would have chosen; something no Slytherin would guess; arrogant, proud Tom Riddle… and then Harry knew, and after a few variations, he had it.

“ _Hufflepuff’s pride._ ”

With a shudder of stone, the carving began to slowly sink down into the mantelpiece. Behind it, raised on a circular stone slab, was Hufflepuff’s cup.

“Yes! Nice one, Harry,” Ron muttered from behind him. Harry grinned as Hermione stepped forward, murmuring charms again. Then she nodded.

“You should be able to take it out,” she said quietly. Harry hesitated, but then reached one arm up into the cavity behind the carving and picked up the cup by the stem. When the cup had been removed, the carving slid back into place. Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione.

“Where do we destroy it?” Hermione wondered.

“Find an empty classroom,” Harry returned. The other two nodded. “Ron, you take Malfoy; Hermione, you carry the cup, stay under the cloak; I’ll watch the map as we go.”

~

Hogsmeade station was busy and loud, despite the smaller number of students at Hogwarts this year.

“Zacharias!” Justin called. Zacharias turned around, grinning, and came to greet them.

“How was Easter?” he asked as the group moved towards the station’s exit.

“Not bad,” Justin shrugged.

“I think Susan spent most of it missing her beloved,” quipped Hannah, earning herself an elbow in the ribs from a pink-faced Susan.

“Hi Susan; hi everyone.”

The Hufflepuffs returned Neville’s greeting casually as the Gryffindor passed them. Hannah giggled.

“They’ll be back to sneaking glances at each other in Herbology in no time,” she whispered, prompting more laughter and blushing.

When the Hufflepuffs reached the place where the carriages would usually meet them, there was only a crowd of confused students milling around.

“Hey, Neville! Lavender!” Hannah called over the younger students to the head boy and girl. “What’s going on?”

The two Gryffindors glanced at each other.

“Don’t know,” mouthed Neville in reply, while Lavender shook her head. “No carriages.”

Neville turned to the crowd at large and raised his voice.

“Alright! Everyone, you either come with me and walk up to the school, or wait with Lavender until either the carriages turn up or –”

There was suddenly an incredibly loud BANG from the direction of the village. Everyone turned, staring as smoke sprouted in the air above Hogsmeade, shooting up until it formed a shape.

A skull, with a serpent for a tongue.

The dark mark.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The students were panicking; Lavender had gone running up to the school to find someone to help. Neville shot sparks and a bang out of his wand.

“QUIET!” he bellowed. The shock of hearing the normally calm Gryffindor shout was enough for Neville to regain control of the crowd. He glanced around. There were about two hundred students, the majority under the age of seventeen.

“Hartford!” Neville called. A fifth year Ravenclaw prefect with a dark blue ribbon in her hair turned to him.

“You and the other prefects lead everyone back up the path to the school! Make sure you don’t lose anyone –”

“Neville, it’s no good, the gates are closed and there’s no one there to open them,” Lavender called, out of breath as she ran back towards them. “We’re stuck out here, there’s no way back in.”

“What do we do?”

“Why are the Death Eaters here?”

“Do you think they’ll come all the way up here?”

“Was it them that shut us out?”

“I said quiet!” Neville called again. It didn’t work as well as before, but the students did quieten down.

“What do we do, Neville?”

Neville swallowed. He had no answer.

“You need to get back inside the castle.”

The students turned. Approaching up the road from Hogsmeade were Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was Ron who had spoken.

“We can’t – the gates are closed,” said Lavender. Her eyes, along with the eyes of the entire student body, were drawn to Harry for an answer or a command, but none seemed forthcoming. The boy-who-lived was not even looking in their direction, his gaze undirected and unfocused, distracted by his thoughts. Hermione answered instead.

“There’s a secret passage way into the castle that won’t be locked off. It starts in the Shrieking Shack,” she said.

“How do we get everyone out without them seeing us?” Dean asked.

Hermione and Ron both looked briefly back at Harry, but he did not react, so Ron replied, “We’ll set up a guard and get everyone through; youngest first.”

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Who would stay behind to guard the rest of the students? At this point, Harry looked up abruptly from his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was quiet – but everyone heard it.

“Dumbledore’s Army. Over here, please.”

In silence, the members of Dumbledore’s Army gathered around Harry, who was rummaging in his bag, stopping occasionally to wince in pain and run a hand through his hair. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

“Dennis, take Gabrielle and head for the Shrieking Shack,” Harry said to Dennis Creevey, handing the Marauder’s Map to Gabrielle Delacour. “Keep hidden, blast your way in, find the trap door and follow the tunnel. It comes out under the Whomping Willow.”

He stopped for a moment, his eyes closing briefly in concentration before opening again.

“Lead the students through – Gabrielle, take the lead, and Dennis follow behind when everyone’s in. Once they’re all at least half way through the tunnel, cave in the entrance so that no one can follow. The rest of us will get back to the castle another way, we’ll meet you there.”

There was a brief silence. Dennis looked for a moment as though he was about to respond angrily to being chosen as the school babysitter, but the expression on Harry’s face changed his mind.

“Okay,” he said. Harry gave him a grim but grateful smile.

“Go.”

Dennis and Gabrielle rounded up the fifth year prefects and started to organise everyone as the rest of Dumbledore’s Army waited for Harry to speak. He was frowning as though in pain, and paler than usual, but he said nothing to explain it.

“The Death Eaters will be coming from the far side of the village – the wards closer to the castle are too strong for them to break through. They’re aiming for a second passage into the castle that starts under Honeydukes.” He took a moment to breathe and wince in pain again before continuing. “We’ve got time, but we need a plan.”

The others waited for him to give them one, but he said nothing. Behind them, the students had been shouted into four lines with the first years in front.

“Harry!” Dennis called. “We’re moving out!”

Harry nodded and gestured Dumbledore’s Army to follow him; along with the rest of the school they made their way down the path to the village. To start with everyone was talking; and then Harry raised his voice.

“The quieter everyone is, the easier this is going to be,” he called, without shouting. The students quietened, though they were still whispering, all of them sneaking looks at Harry constantly.

When they reached the Shack, a few of the older students used blasting spells to break through the doors. Harry pointed Gabrielle to the trapdoor, and then took her to one side. He placed his wand on the Marauder’s Map.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he muttered. Gabrielle’s eyes widened as the map appeared on the parchment.

“Gabrielle; you take this, and once everyone’s through the tunnel, keep watch on it. You’ll be able to see if anyone breaks through from the outside.”

Gabrielle nodded.

“Go,” Harry said. The younger girl called the others to the trapdoor, but before she passed through it, she turned back.

“Harry – good luck,” she said quietly. Harry did not reply. As he made his way back out of the Shack, the same words came to him from students all along the line.

“Good luck.”

“Good luck.”

“Good luck, Potter.”

“Good luck, Harry.”

It was still light outside when Harry reached the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, but the sun was slowly sinking. It would be dark soon. Harry closed his eyes again and felt himself jump minds. Standing with the one or two Death Eaters, he was gazing out across Hogsmeade village and looking up at the castle. He was waiting for something; but they would all attack on his command soon. Harry opened his eyes again, and began to walk down towards the main part of the village. Dumbledore’s Army followed him in silence. When they had reached the main road, he stopped and turned, looking at all of them.

“No one has to do this,” he said quietly. “If you want to go through the Shack and into Hogwarts, it’s alright – no one could blame you.”

No one spoke as Harry looked around at them, meeting every eye and seeing resolve there. He nodded. But then pain spiked in his scar and he winced, turning away a little and biting his lip. But he could not vanish; they all saw. The Dark Mark still hung in the air a distance away, having clearly been cast from the edge of the village rather than the centre.

“Harry, what do we do?” asked Michael Corner. There was silence again; Harry had no answer.

“Ambush.”

Harry looked around. It was Ron who had spoken, but he seemed to have lost some of his confidence upon gaining everyone else’s attention.

“How?” Harry asked, watching his best friend. Ron chewed his lip for a second and spoke again.

“Split up, into pairs and threes. Find somewhere strategic, somewhere you can cast spells at them without being spotted, and wait for them to arrive. Once they’re in the middle of us, we all attack at once.”

Harry nodded.

“Ron’s right,” he said. The others seemed to agree, and although everyone looked scared beyond reason there still wasn’t anyone walking away. Harry turned to Ron again.

“Go on then, Ron.”

Ron still looked nervous, but his voice had the ring of certainty to it.

“Anthony, Michael, Terry,” he said. “You head over to Honeydukes, get spots by the window.” The three Ravenclaws moved at once, and Ron seemed to take heart.

“Neville, Colin – try around the side of the Three Broomsticks. Dean and Seamus, do you think you can get up on the roof of Zonko’s?”

Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, and then Seamus nodded.

“Should be able to,” Dean replied. “Come on.”

The two of them left the group after Neville and Colin.

“Justin, Hannah, go around Scrivenshafts; Parvati and Padma, you try to get up on the roof of Honeydukes,” Ron said. People left to find their places as he continued.

“Ernie, Susan, try on top of Dervish and Bangs… Zacharius, Luna, Ginny, get up on the shed next to Gladrags.”

That left Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“We’ll go for the doorway of the Three Broomsticks,” Ron said. “Harry, you should find somewhere you can’t be seen. You’re too much of a target otherwise.”

Harry nodded, seemingly too distracted by his own thoughts to be annoyed at being sent away. He paused in the centre of the street.

“Ron, set off the coins as the signal to attack. Everyone can hold them and feel when they heat up.”

And with that, he slipped between the two nearest buildings and took up station just along the street. Ernie could just about see him standing, very still, against a wall.

~ 

Hogsmeade village was eerily silent as Dumbledore’s Army waited. But then, after about ten minutes, a sound came from the far side; heavy footsteps. Death Eaters appeared around the corner. There were nearly thirty of them, cloaked, hooded and masked. Not seeing any threat, they were moving casually, not on their guard. Ernie supposed that they assumed the Dark Mark would have frightened everyone off.

The Death Eaters were nearly in the middle of them now. Ernie clenched his fake Galleon tightly in his left hand. A few seconds passed… and then it burnt hot against his skin. Forcing himself to act without thinking, Ernie raised his wand and cast a stunning spell at the same time as a dozen of the other students did.

There were shouts and yells from the crowd of Death Eaters as Dumbledore’s Army attacked. There was only confusion to begin with, and then it became clear; the black-cloaked figures were falling. Ernie caught Susan’s eye briefly, and the two of them grinned with not a little bit of hysteria. Caught in the cross-fire, the Death Eaters were being taken down too quickly to really react, unconscious bodies scattered across the road. Spells were being shot back at Dumbledore’s Army, though; one got too close to Seamus and Dean’s spot on the roof of Zonko’s, ricocheting off of the tiles, the force sending Seamus skidding down the back of the building and onto the ground. Dean fell back to help him.

Less than a dozen Death Eaters were standing now. Ernie could see some of the others looking frightened but pleased, and he felt the same way. If this was all they were attacking with, then they had underestimated –

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

There was a scream – more screams – and then green light flashed over the rooftops and down the alleyways. Ernie looked around, trying to see – and his stomach turned over.

A second force of Death Eaters were approaching from behind them, already attacking. Ernie felt Susan grab his shoulder, pulling him off the rooftop where they were now perfect targets. He felt something singe his hair as he ducked to avoid another curse. The two of them landed badly, and Ernie cried out involuntarily as pain shot up his leg from his ankle.

“Susan, Ernie, over here!”

Ernie and Susan turned; it was Hannah who had called out from the back door of Scrivenshafts, beckoning them towards her. Susan ran straight away, crossing the gap between the buildings before any of the flying curses could hit her. She turned back when she reached the shelter of the building.

“Come on, Ernie!” she exclaimed. Ernie took a step forward, but his ankle couldn’t support him and he fell down in agony.

“Go!” he called. “Just go, I’ll hide and –”

But before he could finish his sentence, he felt soft hand around his waist, pulling his right arm over shoulders. Hannah was pulling him up and dragging him across the gap as quickly as she could. Ernie tried to use his good leg as much as possible, but they were slower than Susan had been. Too slow.

Ernie didn’t hear the shouted curse over the din of screams and cries. But he saw the green light hit Hannah in the side, and felt her slump against him as he pulled the two of them in through the side door. They both fell to the floor inside Scrivenshafts, Susan slamming the door behind them.

The sound of two people breathing seemed to fill the room.

Ernie lifted his head to see Hannah, her eyes still open, her hair fanned across the wooden floor.

And then the side door burst open again.

Ernie and Susan looked around, and started to raise their wands – but it was too late.

“Expelliarmus!”

The clatter of their wands in the darkness of the shop seemed to echo despite the noise outside.

~ 

Shopkeeper’s faces appeared in the upper windows, pale and silent. Dumbledore’s Army were dragged into a rough circle in the main street in pairs and threes, tense and frightened at wandpoint. Dean and Seamus, badly bruised but otherwise unharmed. Colin and Neville. Justin Finch-Fletchley, white as a sheet and alone; Susan and Ernie. Parvati and Padma; and then it was Zacharias, Luna and Ginny. Anthony Goldstein with Michael Corner and Terry Boot. Then Ron and Hermione were forced into a gap in the circle, each with a Death Eater holding onto them.

A minute of uncertainty passed; and then the air swirled and a figure apparated into the centre of the circle. Black robed; tall and skeletal; and when he turned they could see the hoodless, skull-like face of Lord Voldemort.

There was absolute silence.

Lord Voldemort’s piercing, scarlet eyes gazed around the dishevelled students without interest. He waited, unmoving.

And then suddenly there was a scuffle, sounds of a struggle. From around the corner came two Death Eaters forcing a thinner figure forwards. They pulled him through a gap in the circle, and threw him to the ground in the centre.

Harry Potter looked up from the ground and met Voldemort’s eyes, holding the gaze as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Let them go,” he said calmly, though there was anger in the undercurrent of his voice. “You don’t care about them, it’s only me you’re interested in. Let them go.”

Lord Voldemort did not reply, merely watched him as a cat does a particularly odd mouse. Harry dropped his shoulders and relaxed his posture, sliding his hands into his pocket. There was still a tension about him, though, that said he was waiting for an opportunity.

The two gazed at each other for a minute more, the tension building, both refusing to be the one to reveal their own insecurities. Finally, Harry glanced around at the surrounding Death Eaters before he spoke, tossing the words out carelessly.

“So, have you told them yet that you’re a half –” he began, but he didn’t reach the end of the sentence before he was struck across the face with a vicious backhand. He turned back to face his attacker, adjusting his numb jaw. Voldemort’s posture was still calm and still, but his red eyes were wide and burning.

“ _Insolent fool,_ ” he hissed in parseltongue. “ _Do you really think that you can dispel their belief in me so easily?_ ”

“No,” answered Harry in English, “but I think I don’t have to.” He glanced pointedly around the circle again, and one or two of the cloaked figures shifted uneasily. Lord Voldemort’s face twisted in fury and he raised his wand.

“What does that matter to you?” he replied coldly, softly. “You are nothing.”

The silence grew sharper, and Harry stared back, unflinching.

“Try me.”

“ _Crucio._ ”

~ 

The rippling pain began as the shouting did. Harry could hear Hermione screaming and Ron yelling; he could hear the frantic scuffle as they fought their captors to reach him in desperation; and over all else he could hear Ginny's voice cutting through the mayhem,

“You BASTARD Riddle! You're a COWARD! If you were even half as brave as him you wouldn't be so scared to fight him man to man, you COWARDLY BASTARD RIDDLE!”

“ _Stupefy!”_

Ginny’s voice fell silent, but others rose up it its place.

“Are you scared?”

“Pathetic!”

“He’s a coward!”

“BASTARD!”

“Harry’s better than you’ll ever be!”

“You’re scared!”

“Coward!”

“Come on Harry!”

“Go Potter!”

“Yeah, go Harry!”

Suddenly, the pain stopped. Harry couldn’t move; his limbs were still twitching convulsively, out of his control. He heard the noise die down, and squinted upwards as Voldemort reached down and curled a skeletal hand around Harry's throat, pulling him up. “Last chance, Potter,” he whispered. Harry pulled himself slowly onto his knees, taking his own weight, and looked straight into those pitiless red eyes.

“Burn in hell.” There was a pause, and then –

“Crucio.”

_Pain, pain beyond understanding, beyond any form of recognition, separate from the reality; pain so intense it could not be a part of the real world or of any world for if it did that world would be unsurvivable, that life would be unliveable; pain so extreme that the mind screams at the body and the body curses the mind, that the touch of anything - wood, metal, cloth, flesh - sends fresh waves of agony coursing on through; pain without end, without hope of rest or respite, as the mind desperately scratches out wish upon wish for an ending, an ending of this restless, cureless, pointless agony, as the body reaches about it for peace, even from the hands of the cause of pain itself, as the very soul stretches to breaking point, twisting and writhing and losing control -_

“YOU BASTARD, RIDDLE!”

_And then that point; that terrible, awe-filled point as the entire being forgets that there was ever anything but the pain, but the agony, but the endlessness; as the mind has no solution, as the body loses all ability for anything but to grip, with no means to relinquish; as the soul becomes pain itself, and the being is consumed..._

“HARRY!”

_…almost._

“RIDDLE YOU COWARD!”

_Almost, but not quite. For in that soul, amidst the writhing agony and the desperate consummation, there is a tiny, golden, spark. The pain and the darkness coil around it, pushing and clawing at every facet of it, but it is not destroyed. It is not penetrated, it is not broken or consumed or ripped apart, but grows. Slowly, achingly slowly, but still it grows. And now the darkness writhes, the darkness twists and rips into itself, the darkness fights to get out; and still the spark grows. First a spark, then an ember, then a flame, then a roaring fire with crystal walls, pushing the liquid darkness mercilessly down –_

“HOLD ON HARRY!”

_\- and the soul rises once more -_

“HARRY!”

_\- and the flames flicker as though reflections in a pair of bright green eyes –_

\- and Harry stood up.

And there was instant silence.

He could still feel the waves of agony tearing at his flesh, but they no longer worried him. He was aware of the shocked faces around him, aware of the fearful movement, aware that what he was doing was impossible – but all of that was immaterial. All that mattered was the creature in front of him. He saw it as a twisted, blackened thing in the midst of a colourful world, the stick it carried a fiery sword and the spell escaping it a delicate sliver of blood. And he saw what he needed to do.

He reached forward and gripped, snapping the spell in two –

\- and the colourful world passed through grey and then black as he fell back to the ground in pure exhaustion.

~ 

_“Oh my God.”_

_“What_ was _that?”_

_“How the hell did he do that?”_

_“I’ve never seen anything –“_

_“His eyes? Did you see his eyes?”_

_“No. What about them?”_

_“They had golden sparks in the middle!”_

_“I saw it –“_

_“Bloody scary.”_

_“- possessed?”_

_“Nah.”_

_“Well, what then?”_

_“I don’t bloody know!”_

_“Shh! He’s coming around!”_

Harry stirred and groaned quietly. Every part of his body ached like he’d been under the curse for weeks, not just minutes. Even his eyelids were aching, and every so often a twitch would cause the pain to race through his body, brief but sharp. Every movement just made it worse.

“Harry? Can you hear me?” Who was that? Madam Pomfrey? Charlie? Hermione? The voice seemed to have no obvious owner – at least none that Harry could recognise. He tried to relax back into the fuzzy blackness but it had receded slightly, temporarily out of reach. Someone began to push him gently onto his back, but the pain shot across his body and he forced the words through his mouth.

“Please…”

There was an immediate hush. The whispering voices stopped, but the movement continued. Harry swallowed painfully and tried again.

“Please…don’t move me.”

The movement stopped instantly, and a voice that seemed to come from a long way away said,

“Sorry, Harry.”

~ 

When Harry woke up again, the world had stopped spinning. He opened his eyes slowly, but then shut them quickly once more against the bright light. He could hear quiet voices speaking, but couldn’t quite make out the words. Harry focused completely on listening.

“…nothing else…don’t see how…”

“…long?”

“…unconscious…not responding…”

Harry tried to open his eyes again, but the lids were too heavy, and the blackness crept back to smother his consciousness. The last thing he heard before he passed out again was,

“…lucky to be alive…”

~ 

Dawn was only just breaking, light just hitting the inside the headmistress’s office. Eight members of the Order of the Phoenix were scattered around the room, some sat down, others leaning against the walls, all quiet. There were footsteps outside, and then a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Professor McGonagall said swiftly, her voice a little hoarse. The door swung open, and Charlie Weasley stepped through. He looked exhausted.

“Well?” Remus asked immediately from the other side of the office. Everyone in the room was watching Charlie.

“He’s unconscious, so we don’t know what his mental state will be when he wakes up. But physically, he’ll recover. He just needs time,” Charlie said. There was quiet for another moment as this sunk in.

“Ginny?” asked Arthur Weasley softly from where he stood close to the door. Charlie nodded.

“Just stunned.”

“And the Death Eaters?” Emmeline Vance asked.

“They’ve retreated to the Hogsmeade boundary for now, but it won’t be long before they come back,” Aberforth replied gruffly. “Even where they are, they’ve got us shut in.”

“Are they just after ‘arry, or the castle itself?” Fleur asked. McGonagall looked up.

“In all likelihood both,” she replied quietly. “We’ve received word from Alastor that the Ministry of Magic is also under siege.”

“So there’s no help coming from there,” Remus ended.

Silence reigned again. Arthur, who was closest, put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder; Fleur leaned into Bill. Hagrid was staring at the ground, unspeaking.

There was suddenly an echo of sound from outside the door; footsteps getting louder, voices half-hushed, half demanding; a the sound of movement.

“You need rest, I can’t allow you to –”

“ – what is it, why – ”

“ – I am the matron here and you will follow my instructions – ”

The door swung open. Harry Potter stood in the doorway.

His hair was dishevelled, his clothes disarrayed; there were dark, sore circles under his eyes and little bruises could be seen all the way up his lower arms where he had tugged up his sleeves. The sight should have been one of illness, of weakness. But something about his stance said otherwise.

Behind him, Madam Pomfrey was watching her patient anxiously in confusion, and Ron and Hermione were next to her looking worried.

“Harry,” Remus began uncertainly, “we thought you were…”

“I’ve been better,” Harry said quietly, his eyes meeting Remus’ briefly. His voice was steady; he looked around the room, taking in the order members scattered around it, his eyes pausing for a second or two on the portrait of the slumbering Dumbledore.

“I’m going,” he said, his eyes on the air rather than any one person. “I have things to do.”

“But Harry you can’t, you’re not well, it’s not –”

Harry turned his head slightly in her direction. Hermione was silent immediately. He looked around again, but no one seemed willing to contradict him.

“You can’t get out,” Remus said quietly. “The wards are up and the Death Eaters have surrounded us.”

Harry again seemed to be focusing his eyes elsewhere.

“The Forbidden Forest isn’t surrounded yet,” he all but whispered. “If we leave now we’ll be able to slip past them, but we don’t have much time.” He looked up at Professor McGonagall.

“You’ll have to partially raise the wards,” he said, frowning slightly. “Only for a second.”

“I can do that,” McGonagall replied, watching the younger wizard with concern in her eyes. Harry nodded slightly and McGonagall understood it to be in thanks.

“You’ll be wanting this back then, Potter,” Aberforth Dumbledore said, raising his hand. He was holding Harry’s wand.

“I summoned it when you were unconscious,” he said. “Thought you might have a few problems without it.”

Harry took it, meeting Professor Dumbledore’s eyes, so like the old Headmaster’s, and could only nod in response. Once he had his wand, he turned to Ron and Hermione. He did not need to ask; the two of them came forward to stand by his side.

“Let’s go,” he said, turning and moving towards the door where Madam Pomfrey still stood in silence.

“Harry?”

Harry turned. It was Professor McGonagall who had spoken, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain as she used his first name.

“How will we know to let you back in?” she asked.

Harry looked at her.

“One week,” he said, his voice almost a whisper again. “One week and it will be over.” His eyes seemed to regain focus. “I promise you that.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

The first day was panic.

“Students are to return to their dormitories immediately!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice carried over the crowd, but so many of them were talking amongst themselves that it was hard to know if anyone was listening.

“Hogsmeade residents if you could make your way to the classrooms on the fourth floor, beds have been created for you – ”

The noise was increasing. McGonagall looked around the hallway, smothering her desperation with frustration, and took out her wand. She conjured a long stick from the air and then, taking it in one hand, hit the stone wall sharply.

“Attention! Attention!”

A few people nearby looked around, but none stopped. They were pushing through the crowd, all on a mission of their own. _I have to owl my parents. I have to find my sister. I have to get out of here._ _Now, now, now!_

Professor McGonagall leant back against the wall, shaking her head at no one.

~ 

The second day was fear.

Everyone was organised, finally. The heads of houses had directed, shouted and driven the students back to their common rooms, and the other teachers had then managed to organise places to sleep for the residents of Hogsmeade who had flooded in through the castle gates before they had been closed. The students were still going to their classes, though the fourth floor was now being used to house the villagers. No matter the sternness of the glare or the sharpness of the tongue, the students wouldn’t stop whispering in class, calling in the hallways – avoiding the windows. Rumours flew like sparrows, darting from mind to mind, from mouth to mouth; _Harry Potter’s going to kill You-Know-Who. He promised; one week, he said. One of the students was killed in the Hogsmeade attack, her parents don’t even know yet. All the owls are being intercepted. The Ministry of Magic is under siege. Harry Potter…_

Loud noises caused shrieks and jumps in every direction. Every whisperer was wide-eyed and fearful; and no one seemed to sleep.

~ 

The third day was hope.

Sitting in the Headmistress’s office at the end of the day, the few members of the Order who were in Hogwarts were staring anxiously at the fireplace. The letter from the Ministry, in layers of code, was in Professor McGonagall’s hand. Suddenly, the flames flashed green, and Nymphadora Tonks stepped through. Her hair was brown and short, tied back in a ponytail as though simply to get it out of the way. She stood very still as four wands were raised, pointing directly at her chest.

“Nymphadora Tonks, when we picked Harry Potter up from his Aunt and Uncle’s house in the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, what did you break?”

Remus’ voice was steady, but tense. Tonks gave a faint smile.

“It was a plate,” she said quietly. “A blue plate that had been left on the countertop.”

The eyes of everyone in the room flicked back to Remus as he nodded.

“That’s correct,” he said. The others started to lower their wands, but Aberforth stopped them.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “Miss Tonks, isn’t it? What’s the password that Alastor Moody gave to you?”

“Quirrell,” Tonks replied. Aberforth Dumbledore nodded, amused.

“That’s right. You can lower your wands, chaps.”

Arthur, Bill, Charlie and Emmeline Vance did so, relaxing. Emmeline looked confused.

“Why ‘Quirrell’?” she asked, turning to Aberforth, but it was McGonagall who answered.

“Not something that anyone would guess,” she said.

Remus had taken Tonks into his arms, and he held onto her as she spoke to the rest of the group.

“The Ministry is under siege, but they’re holding the Death Eaters off easily,” she reported. “It’s just a matter of keeping everyone calm and organised. How have you been getting on here?”

The other members looked at each other.

“No one’s been hurt since the fight,” Charlie said, “but it’s pretty tense. It’s only going to take something small for the castle to break out in panic again.”

“Rumours are flying thick around the students, everyone seems to know that there was a death in Hogsmeade,” Aberforth continued. Tonks looked at him sharply.

“Who?” she asked, concerned.

“Hannah Abbott, Hufflepuff seventh year,” Professor McGonagall answered, her voice waving slightly. She cleared her throat. “She and the rest of Dumbledore’s Army are the only reason we’re still here.”

Tonks nodded, her face pale.

“Well, the floo connection I came through has been secured. With the rest of the network shut down it can’t be intercepted, but we’ll keep using a password system just in case,” she said.

“Will the Minister be sending anyone?” Emmeline Vance asked. Tonks nodded again.

“As many Aurors as they can spare will come through tomorrow.”

The others seemed to relax a little, gratefully. Tonks cleared her throat a little, and then looked around the room.

“What about Harry?”

~ 

The fourth day was confidence.

The Aurors arrived around eleven in the morning, eight of them. Not many, admittedly, but they were the first sign of the outside world that the school had seen for a few days, and with their presence came a change in attitude.

People started looking out of the windows again; the hubbub of noise was lighter, chattier than usual. There were more smiles. Someone even dropped a dungbomb in a second floor corridor and was severely reprimanded for it. The wards were strong, and it seemed as though everyone was finally settling into their current situation.

~ 

The fifth day was shock.

The patronus arrived during dinner, in the centre of the Great Hall. Everyone turned to look at it as it spoke with the voice of Alastor Moody.

“We are overrun.”

Again, the whispers rippled around, people questioning, arguing – hardly believing. The professors on the high table conferred just as disbelievingly.

~ 

The sixth day was silence.

Silence from the outside world.

Silence across the grounds.

Silence in the castle.

~ 

The seventh day.

Charlie was out on the top of the North Tower, looking out across the grounds. Not many people would come up here any more, and he knew why – if he looked to his left he could see the dots of black that were Death Eater guards, lining the edge of the grounds. He wouldn’t be able to see them at all in a couple of hours, though; sunset was approaching.

Without really thinking about it, he reached for the pendant hanging around his neck, toying with it between finger and thumb. A few people had them now; Fred and George had given them to the rest of the Weasley family a short time after Harry, Ron and Hermione had left Grimmauld Place. Charlie’s had a dragon’s wing etched into the surface, and a little W on the reverse. He let it fall back against his skin, leaning against the stone wall; at then he felt it grow hot.

~ 

Diagon Alley was for the most part deserted; but a few shop-keepers lingered, secreted away in storerooms and cowering behind countertops. Fred and George Weasley had been working in their shop when news had come through, whispers from other people on the alley – Hogsmeade Village had been attacked. Hogwarts and the Ministry were under siege. And then – the Ministry has been taken.

Unlike most of the others on the alley, however, Fred and George were not sitting and whispering together in some dark corner of their shop. They continued to work on repairs.

Curses had ripped apart much of the shop’s interior a few months ago, which made rebuilding difficult and time consuming; and it had been three weeks before Fred had recovered enough to be able to help. But slowly but surely the shattered glass had been swept up, the broken pieces of wood and stone collected and moved away, and any surviving merchandise had been salvaged. The shop was no longer a wreck, but a skeleton of what it had been; the perfect place to start a refurbishment which, as Fred had said, they had needed anyway.

On this particular day, the seventh since the Hogsmeade attacks, the twins were standing at a surviving countertop looking over plans.

“I still think we should keep the more specialised stuff in the back room.”

“Yeah – but can we open it out a bit? Too many people had to ask where it was, I think we need a clearer layout.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, in a show of synchronicity that rarely occurred when the two of them did not have an audience, the twins looked at each other, each raising a hand to his chest. The necklaces that they both wore, George’s bearing a rocket and Fred’s an exploding firework, had burnet hot against their skin. There was a moment where the two of them just looked at each other without speaking; then they both drew their wands, took hold of their own necklace, and disappeared with a sharp, synchronised pop.

~ 

Harry watched as the leading Death Eater, his mask still on, lifted his left sleeve and pressed the tip of his wand to the mark there – _and he felt the summons tear at him_ – his scar was splitting open, he knew what was happening – _they had him._

He backed up but stopped as he heard movement behind him – the Death Eaters had encircled him. He swallowed, gripped his wand, and said as casually as he could manage,

“About now would be good.”

~ 

Ron was watching from the Burrow’s kitchen window; Hermione, behind him, was hushing people as they apparated into the kitchen. At Harry’s words, Ron turned to the others.

“Go,” he barely had time to say before the Weasley family and half of the Order of the Phoenix charged outside.

~ 

The grassy space outside the Burrow was mud in minutes under the havoc. More Death Eaters arrived every minute, and though more Order members joined them they were outnumbered. And then, the sudden shout, and three people arrived at the edge of the fighting – Bellatrix Lestrange. Lucius Malfoy.

And Lord Voldemort, Nagini at his heels.

Bellatrix flew into the fray without hesitation, sharp lines of green slicing through the crowd. Lucius moved to the side and was pulled into a duel with Remus Lupin. But the Dark Lord saw his young opponent stop and turn, and they met eyes.

_“The chosen one, they call you now.”_

The words echoed in Harry’s mind, and he saw himself through those red eyes.

“I wasn’t chosen,” he said, both aloud and in his thoughts. “I chose.” His wand arm snapped out with a wordless spell, and the duel began.

The fighting around them did not cease, it could not – but every witch and wizard there on the grimy mud in the dying light was watching. In between spells faces turned to the two in the centre, drawn to the battle that would decide all of their fates.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Nagini leap at Ron, but he didn’t have breath to warn him – but then Ron turned.

“ _Finio Inanis!”_

Ron’s voice soared above the crowd as the spell hit the snake which collapsed to the floor, dead. Harry saw Voldemort’s eyes widen with the sudden knowledge – and then, despite both of them trying to avoid it, their spells clashed together, forming the familiar golden beam of light between their two wands. Before the spell could move them away from the battle as it had before, something occurred to Harry. He met Voldemort’s eyes, his expression somewhere between pride and fear, and whispered two words.

“ _Finio Inanis._ ”

The beam of golden light swelled and pulsed, sending a burst of colour down its length towards Voldemort’s wand. When the light reached it, Voldemort’s wand shattered; but the colours continued, free-wheeling the length of his arm and bursting into sparks. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was driven backwards, his eyes wide with fear and shock as he fell, consumed by flame - dead. The connection between his wand and Harry’s exploded, and Harry was flung away as the golden sparks raced down his wand, as the heavy, deadening effect tore at his wand hand and began to chase the life from his arm. There was chaos surrounding him – people shouting, screaming, fighting – but he barely noticed it. He grabbed his wrist, clawing at his own arm, as if trying to stop the life slowly leaving him, not caring about the nightmare blend of sounds around him, indifferent to everything, until he saw a flash of bright red hair tossing, crying out.

“HARRY!” He looked up through his agony and saw Ginny, kicking and screaming but being dragged away from the fight by a death eater, whose mask…whose mask was slipping off, clawed off by Ginny’s flailing hands. The platinum blonde hair was unmistakable.

_Malfoy_. Harry felt a rage building up inside him, overriding the pain, and he stood up, ripping his wand from his right hand with his left, ignoring the skin that that tore with it, burning his palm. He moved, flinging curses right and left at any Death Eater between him and Ginny. Shocked by the sudden violence of his attack, they fell one by one, he was four meters away, three…

Suddenly there was no-one between them.

“GINNY!” he shouted. She saw him and jerked downwards, no longer blocking his target –

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Lucius Malfoy dropped over, unconscious, as Ginny fell forwards into Harry’s arms. _Safe._ Except…

He didn’t stop to think, couldn’t consider any other choice. He pushed into Ginny and she fell away. The curse hit him full in the back and he hit the ground. The last thing he saw was Ginny leaning over him, white with shock, calling his name, before the world went black.

~ 

Ron hurled a stunner at his opponent and turned to see Harry push Ginny out of the path of a curse, taking it himself instead and instantly crumpling to the ground beside her. He couldn’t think, he just ran towards them. Ginny was deathly pale and had her hands on Harry’s shoulders, shaking him, begging him to wake up. Ron fell to his knees beside them, barely registering that the Death Eaters had been more or less defeated and that all the Order members still standing were running towards them. As noise enveloped them, Ron had only one thought. _I didn’t even see.  I didn’t even see what curse it was…_

~ 

_Six (silence)_

The Burrow was unnaturally quiet. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen, making herself busy, clattering plates and cutlery as she washed them by hand for once, but never speaking. Arthur came in every ten minutes or so to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Upstairs, various Weasleys were occupying themselves equally quietly. Fred and George were playing cards, watched wordlessly by Ron; Hermione and Ginny were reading in Ginny’s room, Ginny glancing up from her book at the ceiling every time a floorboard creaked. Bill had left for work that morning with only a nod to his father and a wave to the rest of the family.

In the room directly below the attic, Harry lay deeply unconscious. Charlie was sitting on a chair next to the head of the bed, tracking his temperature and keeping an eye on the time as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to return.

~ 

_Five (shock)_

The quiet of the previous day was abruptly shattered by an arrival. There was a somewhat hesitant knock on the door as the Weasley family and Hermione sat eating breakfast, and Fred, who was closest, got up to open it.

Standing on the doorstep, his usually neat hair in disarray, his expression nervous instead of smug, was Percy.

There was a clatter as Ron dropped the fork he was holding.

“I heard that – ” Percy began, “Well, I wanted to – it’s just that – I thought I should – I’ve been meaning too – well… sorry.”

The last word was delivered awkwardly, but sincerely. No one said anything. Percy swallowed.

“I’ll – I’ll just go, I shouldn’t have just – I’ll –”

“Come in, Percy,” Arthur said quietly. Percy hovered in the doorway for a moment more before stepping inside. Fred closed the door behind his brother, and then moved away to stand with the rest of the family. Percy did not seem to know what do to with himself. He chewed his lip for a minute or so and then managed to speak again.

“I really am,” he said, “sorry, I mean. I have been for a while, I didn’t know how – I suppose you don’t want me –”

“You’re my son.”

Percy looked straight at his father and nodded, his face pale. Arthur nodded too, considering.

“You’re our family,” he said, reaching for Molly’s hand. “We’ll always want you, even if we’re angry.” He smiled softly, and Percy managed a weak smile back.

Fred and George exchanged glances, and then they both moved over to stand either side of Percy, who swallowed anxiously again.

“Percy, we’ve always known you were a prat,” George began, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“And we’ve tried to explain it to you before,” Fred continued, putting his hand on Percy’s other shoulder.

“But we think that now –”

“ – after all of this –”

“You’ve probably learnt your lesson.”

The twins grinned, and Percy seemed to relax considerably. Bill stood up to ruffle his little brother’s hair, and it wasn’t long before Percy was sitting at the table with them, eating breakfast.

“The death eaters all vanished from the Ministry without a word,” Percy said. “Apparently they disappeared from around Hogwarts at the same time. We only knew what had happened after the fact.”

“When the Order sent a message to Scrimgeour,” Bill interjected. Percy nodded.

“Speaking of what happened,” he said warily, looking around, “where is Harry?”

The others all exchanged glances. Charlie answered.

“He’s upstairs, Perce, pretty badly hurt.”

“Will he be alright?”

The obvious concern on Percy’s face was enough to win the tiny bits of affection that the other had been holding back.

Arthur nodded.

“Madam Pomfrey says he’ll recover, but it’s going to take time – he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Best not to let on where he is, Percy, if that’s alright. Don’t need the press all over him,” Charlie said.

“Of course,” Percy agreed softly. He went back to eating his scrambled egg.

There was quiet for a few minutes, until Hermione spoke up.

“Percy?” she asked unsurely. “Do you know how – how many, um…”

“Fifteen dead,” Percy answered, “at the Ministry, at least. A few hurt, but not seriously. It’s a miracle it wasn’t more. I don’t know about Hogwarts.”

“One,” said Ron, speaking to his toast.

~ 

Later that evening, when a bed had been squeezed in for Percy (Mrs Weasley insisted he stay, and he was glad to) and most of the family had trouped upstairs for the night, Percy was in the kitchen fetching a glass of water when the twins entered.

“Hey Perce,” George said casually, leaning against the doorframe. Percy gave them a smile.

“You’re still up?” he asked.

Fred nodded.

“We’ve got something for you,” he said.

“Didn’t know when you’d turn up again,” George continued, bringing out a little black box.

“But we know you would eventually,” Fred finished. George threw the box lightly to Percy, who managed to catch it one-handed and put down his glass of water to open it.

Inside was a necklace with a silvery pendant the size of a fingerprint. On one side was etched a small ‘W’ and on the other a pair of clearly horn-rimmed glasses.

~ 

_Four (confidence)_

Late afternoon, and Percy had returned from a brief trip to the Ministry. Bill and Charlie and Arthur all had jobs to go to, but no one wanted to leave with Harry lying upstairs.

They were all scattered around in the living room, talking quietly, when there was a sudden loud crack, followed by a thud. Everyone jumped; Hermione gave a little scream of shock and then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said shakily. “Still jumpy.”

At the open window, Errol arrived, looking battered.

“He flew into the window, the stupid thing,” Fred said, starting to laugh, as shaky as Hermione. The others all grinned in the same fashion, and Bill had just taken the letter from Errol’s leg when there was a sudden noise on the stair. And then another. Footsteps.

The room was frozen; and then Harry was standing in the doorway, his wand in his left hand, his body shuddering in exhaustion.  
“Heard a scream,” he murmured. Ron moved fast enough to catch him as he swayed, and between him and Charlie they managed to get Harry into the nearest armchair.

“Harry, you should be resting,” Charlie said gently. Harry nodded vaguely.

“Tired,” he said hoarsely. This prompted another shaky laugh from the others.

“Yeah, Harry, no kidding,” George said.

“Let’s get you back to bed, hey?” Charlie said, nodding to Bill who came to help him.

“You just go back to sleep, we’ll look after you.”

Harry closed his eyes, the world returning to the more comfortable black.

~ 

_Three (hope)_

Although most of the major pains had passed, he still found it difficult to stay still without shifting position every few minutes in a fruitless effort to prevent his body beginning to ache. Movement was still difficult and consumed much of his energy; he woke up, had something to eat, went back to sleep, and did little else all day. But his sleep was uncomfortable rather than restful, punctuated with the shouts and screams of recent weeks.

Despite this, however, the mood in the house had improved slightly. Some of the tension was gone, and the smiles were lighter.

~ 

_Two (fear)_

Harry managed to get downstairs for breakfast that morning, but only supported by Ron. Ginny watched him over the table. Apart from looking ill, he was exhausted – he had great purple circles under his eyes, and she could see a fine tremble as he used his left hand to pour milk onto his cereal.

When breakfast was over, he seemed if anything more worn out. He hadn’t spoken at all except the occasional murmured ‘please’ or ‘thank you’, and when Ron and Charlie helped him to his feet his face lost even more colour.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, his voice hoarse, “I’m fine.”

Charlie was frowning, but said nothing.

That evening, Ginny slipped up to Harry’s room – as everyone was now referring to it – straight after dinner. Opening the door as quietly as she could, she stepped inside and sat down in the chair next to Harry’s bed.

He was asleep, but not peacefully; his face was twisted in pain, frightened. Ginny put a hand gently on his left shoulder, wary of touching the right, and gave it a careful shake.

“Harry,” she murmured. “Wake up.”

After a few moments, Harry blinked himself awake, squinting against the dim lamp on the bedside table.

“Ginny? What…”

Speaking suddenly provoked coughing, and Ginny bit her lip as Harry winced with every spasm.

“Here,” she said, handing him the glass of water next to the bed. He drank from it gratefully.

“Thanks,” he said finally, handing it back to her. She smiled a little.

“You were having a nightmare,” she replied quietly. “Can I help?”

Harry didn’t answer for a minute or so, but finally he turned his head to see her. His expression was nervous and his words were hesitant.

“Would you – I mean, you don’t have to, but would you… stay?”

Ginny smiled, properly this time, though with a hint of sadness.

“Of course,” she said softly. She kicked off her shoes as Harry gingerly moved over, watching her curl up on the side of the bed. She wound her hand into his.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

 ~

_One (panic)_

It was dark in the room now, the dark of early morning. Harry smiled slightly to himself despite the pain as he felt Ginny sleepily tug on the sheets, turning over. He let his thoughts wander and closed his eyes, sleep overwhelming him.

_\- a flash of golden eyes behind round glasses -_

Harry woke up. But it was over now, he knew, as his breathing steadied, and sleep began to return. It was all, finally, over.


End file.
